


Give Me a Bit of Your Heart (I'll Never Let Go)

by Debdamnalycia



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fine Stud Lexa, Friends to Lovers, G!p Lexa, Ladies and gentlemen the one and only Raven Reyes, Librarian Clarke, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Smol bean lexa, Work In Progress, lit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debdamnalycia/pseuds/Debdamnalycia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Clarke. She dabbles in art as a hobby (she's more like a masterful pro and therefore she owns an art gallery that has been closed for months), and is a renowned part-time author writing under a pseudonym... oh and a Nicholas Sparks fan recently dumped by Niylah, her ex-girlfriend.</p><p>Meet Lexa. An external player, big time CEO of Trikru Industries, and an internally a smol bean who's a Marvel nerd... or just a nerd all around.</p><p>Meet Raven and Anya. The golden duo deadset on making Clexa happen... And it will happen fam.</p><p>Then there's the friends who appear throughout the book whenever necessary.</p><p>[Clexa is bound to happen fam, so I hope this is a good one]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my story!
> 
> I don't know how this story is going to go, but I'm just going to write and hopefully not go back and fix things anymore lol I am an amateur writer... actually a straight up beginner, and I hope and thank all y'all for joining me for this ride!
> 
> I'm also making this a G!P Lexa fic and I hope that's okay with everyone. Also please feel free to submit prompts to me! I often encounter writer's block! 
> 
> Ty dudes and I hope y'all enjoy this story!  
> _____________________________________

_Three Years Ago…_

“The city is beautiful,” said Niylah in awe staring out their living room window at the expansive New York City skyline. She turned to the blonde sitting next to her on the couch, handing her a glass of freshly poured red wine. They have been in a relationship for a year now.

 “Beautiful like you.” The blonde grinned, soon bursting into a fit of giggles as she took the glass from Niylah, her wonderful girlfriend of a solid year. She was on cloud nine. “God, how cheesy was that?”

“Clarke, you’re basically a poet, the next Mozart.” Niylah attempted to keep a serious vibe as she drank her wine.

 “First off, Mozart is not a poet babe.” Clarke paused, placing her glass on the coffee table. “Secondly, you can’t lie for shit.”

Niylah put down her glass. “Come again?” She playfully tightened her expression. “Why Clarke Abigail Griffin I am in fact an excellent liar! You HAVEN’T seen ANYTHING yet.”

Clarke chuckled, grabbing a cushion from beside her. “I’m still waiting.” 

“You have—” Niylah didn’t get to finish her sentence. Her loving girlfriend had smacked her in the face with a cushion.

Clarke couldn’t contain her laughter. She had gotten Niylah that time, normally her girlfriend would foil her plans with some witty evasive tactic. Her giggles halted, an immediate weight collapsing atop her. Expectantly she looked up, gaze locking with the other blonde’s beautiful hazel eyes. 

It was a scene taken straight from the Nicholas Sparks handbook: her girlfriend, Niylah, all breathy and somewhat sweaty self, causing a soft, warm, mushiness to spread within… then of course, the ensuing hot, gentle sex. 

“I love you Clarke,” Niylah softly murmured from above. “I love you so damn much.” She started the languid downward path from Clarke’s tousled hair to the warm pouted lips of her beautiful girlfriend.

Clarke hated to ruin the moment. “Can I ask you a question?” She uncomfortably shifted beneath her girlfriend, body stilling.

Niylah’s actions ceased, instead giving the love of her life her full undivided attention. “You can ask me anything.”

“Why did you choose me when you could’ve chosen anyone in Grounder’s Coffee? Anyone in New York?”

Niylah quizzically looked down at Clarke, baffled by the sudden question. “How could I not? You’re everything I asked for Clarke.” She leaned lower closer to the blonde once more, restarting the languid downward path. “You are kind, selfless…” _Kiss_. “You put other’s needs before yours, unwilling to watch another suffer.” _Kiss. “_ I love your big warm heart Clarke. When you love, you give all of you.” _Kiss_.

“The entire city Niylah…” Clarke trailed off, averting her gaze. “… Just anyone…and… you pick me.”

Niylah cupped the blonde’s cheek, face now an inch from Clarke’s. Her lush brown eyes found icy cerulean. “I walked into that coffee shop knowing you were the one. I just knew right, then, and there in that moment. I wanted you.” She kissed the love of her life.

Clarke mumbled a string of incoherent words against Niylah’s masterful lips.

“What was that babe?” Niylah smirked, the moment passed.

Clarke smiled resuming pressing her lips to her lover’s once more.

Their bodies molded perfectly together… a glove. She could stay in this position forever.

 

_Present Day…_

Abandoned days-old takeout containers haphazardly littered the pristine-white marble kitchen island. The putrid stench proliferated to each corner of the small modern walled Manhattan loft. The random clumps of dirty clothes cluttered the recette-dark wood flooring. In the dim lit living room Clarke Griffin curled up into the soft cushions of the pewter light grey sectional sofa. Her hair was tousled, marginally disheveled. She threw on a faded black Layla hoodie and grey knitted jogger pants. An hour ago after she had she wrapped up her last surgery at the hospital, she had stopped at the downtown liquor store to restock her inventory of vodka and wine.

She gazed out through the expansive picture window lost to the enrapturing scene of the Empire State Building towering over the Hudson. On instinct she studied the basic limestone panels lining the building’s exterior, then the vibrantly illuminated tip the metallic spire stretching to the stars. Signature white lights tonight. She gripped the vodka bottle tighter, suddenly melancholy in remembrance.

This shouldn’t be happening to her. Her entire life ahead of her was A-1. She had the perfect girlfriend, the perfect grades, the perfect New York loft, the perfect proposal… Honestly, it shouldn’t be. When did everything fall to ape shit?

_“Fuck. Niylah talk to me,” she plead, vision changing from clear to a blur, heartbeat going at one-thousand miles per hour. Was this real? She reprocessed the scene before her, the packed bags, and Niylah ignoring her questions._

_She watched her girlfriend complete her last bag, slinging the bags over her shoulders, then swiftly clutching the handles of her suitcases. Niylah hesitantly greeted her confused gaze, holding it. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds. Five seconds._

_“Are you leaving?” Her voice cracked. This is real._

_Niylah severed the connected gaze, voice strong and solid, composed. “I’m sorry Clarke. I have to go.”_

_She silently watched as Niylah resumed fetching her bags. “Can I ask you a question?”_

_Niylah paused._

_“Why?” She torn-fully wailed. “Why are you leaving?”_

Clarke brought the liquid to her lips once more, drowning the encompassing sadness and violent rage igniting in the pits of her stomach, disconnected and guzzled the entire bottle.

Fuck it.

She catapulted the glass bottle at the wall, the glass shattering into a trillion shards. Fucking Niylah, fucking life, fucking shit. She grabbed another bottle, lifting the mouth to her lips once more.

Goddamnit.

The sizzling burn coursed down the the walls of her throat incinerating everything in its path. Clarke was too far gone; however, she will ALWAYS remember.

Love is weakness.

 

Raven honestly gave zero fucks if picking the lock was what was required of her in order to get to her friend. January, February, March, April, now May. It was excruciatingly distressing knowing she couldn’t do anything to help Clarke, to help the blonde regain her jubilantly passionate former self. All the brunette really could do was check-in on Clarke every few days. 

Out of common courtesy, she knocked on the wooden door. Though, it felt as if she were always knocking on the damn door these days, a common dance danced over and over again on an endless loop.

“Go away.” Clarke’s voice was laced with heartache, defeat, and dejection. Raven witnessed her friend’s burning fire be extinguished, the blonde’s fight snuffed out. She had witnessed Clarke thrust herself into work jumping at every available surgery open to an intern in a sad bid to distract herself from confronting her emotions. Typical Griff fashion.

She palmed her paper clip bringing it to the door. “Clarke, I’m deadset going to pick the lock if you don’t open this door. 

A dance danced over and over again.

An unpleasant stench infiltrated Raven’s nose; a mix of rotten food and days old clothes. “Clarke?” Raven cautiously called out, apprehensively stepping into the darkened living room.

Today seemed different. Something was off.

“Clarke?” She caught the quiet shuffles of a figure shifting in the corner couch by the window. Her eyes spotted the glinting glass on the floor. Work, drink, repeat.

“Get your shit together Griff,” she muttered, walking further into the open space.

Clarke’s eyes were sunken, droopy, pushed in. Her posture. Slouched, dejected, sad, damaged, inflicted. Her Clarke was far gone… Well almost. There were flashes of her best friend during those scarce moments when Clarke gazed at the Empire State Building, or the Hudson River wishing for nothing more than to simply be an artist displaying admiration through sketches and drawing, but after Clarke’s father died the blonde never found the will to pick up a pencil again… until Niylah that is, however after Niylah left Clarke, the blonde once again lost her will to pick up a pencil anew.

“Fucking unbelievably,” said Raven under her dragged breath. She wearily raked a hand through her ponytail, fingers smoothing knots and kinks. Clarke Griffin… the biggest repair Raven would ever encounter in her lifetime. Aside from cars. The human population never failed to impress her otherwise boring busy life.

The blonde incoherently mumbled a string of words. “Fuck off Ray.” Clarke rocked backwards and forwards, arms clutching her knees, her eyes near blotched, mascara bludgeoned. She outstretched her arm reaching for another bottle of vodka.

Today was indeed different because today, something inside Raven snapped. She simply had zero remaining tolerance for her best friend. “No. I’ve struggled watching you suffer forever, you’re my best friend.” She carefully treaded closer to her best friend snatching the bottle from the blonde’s clutches placing it as far as possible out of reach. She looked back to find her friend passed out on the couch.

Raven doused the blonde in ice. “Your life has turned to shit permitting that mess of a girlfriend to lacerate the solid foundation of your soul, mangling the best friend who constantly had my back in the midst of my darkest times.” She paused, verifying she had Clarke’s undivided attention. “Niylah didn't and still doesn't deserve you okay? But move on Griff, haul your ass out from your selfish butt. You’re letting her win. I’m sick and tired of watching you wallow in self-pity because guess WHAT?”

She bore her gaze into the pissed off blonde. “YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR HER ASSHOLE.” Raven’s chocolate eyes pleaded with bleary, bloodshot, blue ones. “You FORCED us to watch you DIE.” She reminisced when the inseparable trio of her, Clarke, and Octavia would trek dire lengths to hell and back for each other. “YOU CHAINED US TO YOUR CAR DRAGGING US ALONG WITH YOU ON THE PATH TO HELL.”

“You shut Octavia out, barring her from performing her best friend duties!” Trio walked on fire for each other enduring the searing burns on the soles of their feet. Clarke and Octavia made sure Raven never had to see Finn’s sorry ass ever again via undisclosed methods, especially after they discovered the fucker dated both Clarke and Raven. “I want my friend back,” Raven pleaded. “I just… I miss her. Please… come back to me Clarke… come back to US.”

“She’s gone.” Clarke’s two words cut through the quiet starry-lit room, response crisp and terse.

_Clarke removed the blasphemous box from her back pocket hurling it at Niylah, who managed to intercept it before it hit her face._

“I wanted to marry her that night, the ring was hidden in my back pocket,” Clarke shakily began. “I had it all planned out: the perfect dinner, the right scent of jasmine candles.”

_“Get out!” Clarke screamed._

Clarke sniffled. “We promised forever and always—— It wasn’t meant to be—— I was only a phase to her,” she whimpered. “I tried… I tried… I-I can’t. It hurts so bad. Ray. Make it stop, make it all disappear… It’s too much…” She burst into tears, the droplets sliding down her cheeks.

Raven swatted at the tears rolling down Clarke’s face. “Look at me,” she commanded. “Look. At. ME.” She lifted Clarke’s chin up. “YOU. NEED. TO. GET. YOUR. SHIT. TOGETHER. It’s not rocket science Griff. It’s a one plus one equals two kind of problem. Get your shit together equals getting your shit together. You and I both know this after years and years of experience.”

“Ray, aren't you listening. I tried and can’t.” Clarke’s streaming tears glinted in the moonlight shining into the room. “Please. Just—I can’t anymore. I’m tired.”

 _No fucking way. Sorry Clarkey, you don’t get to do this to me. Not after everything we’ve fought together._ “I’m NOT FUCKING GIVING up on you. You NEVER gave up on me when Finn happened. You NEVER gave up on Octavia.” Raven gestured to her leg. “You REFUSED to let us relinquish ourselves to our pain, fence ourselves in, sever our ties completely with civilization. NO FUCKING WAY IN HELL am I going to sit here and watch you waste away to zero.” She forced the blonde to meet her gaze. “GET YOUR SHITOLE TOGETHER GRIFF!” 

“Whether YOU like it OR NOT, you WILL BE joining O and us tomorrow for coffee. Now, I know you don’t want to haul your ass from bed, or pull your ass out from work, but YOU’RE still COMING regardless. I’ll swing by at 9’o clock. You’re doing this FOR ME, for MY SAKE… Please.”

♨♨♨

 

Raven lolled on her Lazy Boy couch, eyes droopy and sunken from last night’s frustrating heart-to-heart with Clarke, her best friend aside from Octavia Blake, a young, vibrant, rebellious free spirit, and her roomie.

 _3am_. 3 – fucking - am in the morning she departed from Clarke’s SoHo complex for her routine checkup. A small success forward if the brunette wanted to call it that. Raven managed to shut her the blonde’s sad wailing self-wallowing in self-pity mouth up, so that she could force Clarke’s ass out of bed today – hell out of her own hermit world of isolated devastation.

Not very best-friend of her yes, but desperate situations required desperate measures…

All Raven had to do now was excavate dear old Clarkey from the rubble.

Raven heard a moan, then soon an emphatic deafening thump from her friend’s bedroom followed by several softer moans.  “Hey O, keep your sexual moans to yourself! Just because you're in an imaginary relationship doesn't mean the rest of the world deserves to hear it.”

“I’m the one actually in a relationship thank you very much!” Octavia slyly snagged a huge body pillow and snuck behind her clueless friend angling it to smack her squarely in the face.

“You sincerely wouldn't be grateful for a noise complaint filed by your dear neighbors for … un-categorizable sounds,” she continued. “I mean seriously. Apartment 307 ticketed for sexual noises. Can you imagine that headline?”

Octavia’s fingers gripped the pillow tighter elevating it higher, hoping to gain more speed and power from the height. She slammed the pillow in her friend’s face. “For the record Ray, the incessant rings of my alarm clock startled me, so I rolled off the bed. You have such a dirty, naughty, filthy mind.”

“Enjoyable dreams?” Raven gathered her usual smug composure taunting. “But it’s not like you have a sex life anyways.” She winked, earning another painful whack to the face.

She snatched the pillow from Octavia, carelessly tossing it to the wood tiled floor far away from both of them. She simulated wiping her hands as if to say, well that's that, concluding her performance with the cocky flip of her middle finger. 

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I do, and that life is called Lincoln, and missy… you came home late last night asshole. Like sunrise late. Worried sick late.” Octavia’s self-explanatory audacious voice rang through Raven’s ears. “Where were you anyways?” she teased. “Out late with a random stranger? Find yourself a keeper?”

“Clarkey isn’t doing well.” Raven’s tone became somber. She was well aware of the fallout between Octavia and Clarke. Shortly described: it wasn’t pretty.

“You would think after four months she’d be recovered from blonde bitch.” Octavia walked into the kitchen, every hint of the playful joker gone. “Any improvements at all?” She opened the wood counter drawers. It was a messy affair.

“Nada. She’s in hermit-land, the Untouchable Unreachable Land of Clarke Griffin.”

“Why don’t you just stop trying and leave her?” Octavia heated the stove. “After all she has put us through, you still bother to see how she is, you still BOTHER to help her.” She hadn’t accompanied Raven to weekly checkup and tidy the blonde’s loft. “I don’t understand.”

_“Clarke I’m just trying to help. Talk to me. Let me help you! I’m one of your closest friends--- one of your best friends! LET ME DO MY JOB!” Octavia pled with the blonde from the other side of a locked door._

_“What part of go away do you not understand? O… I’m sorry, I just can’t. Leave me alone.”_

_Octavia balls her fists in anger and frustration. Since the beginning of time, it was always Clarke, Octavia, and Raven. It was always the trio of best friends having each other’s backs in dire situations of need. “CLARKE! LET ME BE THE BEST FRIEND YOU’VE BEEN TO ME! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?”_

Raven sighed. “I know O, trust me… But she has had our backs for years rushing to our sides with Finn and Atom.”

“We never forced our friends to painstakingly watch the girl we grew up with, the personality we loved her for, the person she is, diminish until darkness consumed her soul.” Octavia was angry, seething. “She made us suffer. The absolute worst thing a best friend can do.”

“Best friend obligations O. If we were Clarke’s best friends, would we abandon her when she needs us most? Do best friend’s run away from each other? What’s wrong with you?” Raven pushed herself from the Lazy Boy, soon standing next to Octavia. “Several months ago you would’ve rushed to her side undoubtedly. Now… I don’t have a fucking clue. If you say yes, you aren’t her best friend because you deserted her severing communications, you’re leaving her to the hungry savage wolves. She’s going to get devoured, you idiot! By HERSELF!”

Octavia focused on cracking eggs into a bowl. Damn her obligations. Clarke, her so-called best friend, ran away from her pain, her problems… smothering herself in surgeries and booze. She barricaded herself from the world, including her two best friends who’ve been to hell and back for each other. She demanded Octavia to leave her and to never show her face again. “I didn’t abandon her. She abandoned me.” _Keep telling yourself that_. “She pushed us away,” Octavia recited her well-versed mantra.

_“Give up on me O.” Octavia heard the blonde pour liquid, presumably vodka, a staple favorite of Clarke’s, into what she believed to be a shot glass. Don’t get her wrong, but Octavia listened to Raven’s telltale of that homewrecker Niylah._

_That was two weeks ago._

_“Never, that isn’t what best friends do Clarke. We don’t give up on each other. We have each other’s backs in times like this. Whatever you need, I’m there.”_

_“There’s. Nothing. You. Can. Do. Now.” Octavia barely registers her friend’s voice, a mere whisper_

_“Bull---_

“---shit. Niylah hit her hard O, a tidal wave powering her off. She was willing to give her heart and soul to the woman she loved only to be rudely left in their shared bedroom listening to the sound of wheeling suitcases leaving their loft.” Raven shut off the stove halting Octavia’s cooking. “I sound insanely repetitive, but she isn’t allowing herself to hurt, to feel, to confront her problems. She’s running far from them throwing herself into her work at the hospital, then stumbling home exhausted drinking her woes sleeping in the bottom of a bottle. She’s lost, not gone. And as her best friends, it’s our job to get our Clarke back. Best FUCKING friend obligations!”

“MAKE ME UNDERSTAND then.” Octavia clenched her jaw in frustration. “We’ve been at this for months. Make me understand why she abandoned our friendship. GIVE ME ONE DAMN GOOD REASON.”

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“Clarke. Don’t do this.”_

_“I’m sorry. Goodbye O.”_

_Tears streamed down Octavia’s face as she exited Clarke’s loft._

“Octavia Marie Blake. YOU abandoned her. STOP DENYING THE TRUTH!” Raven paused. “Tomorrow at 9am, I am forcing our dear best friend to go get coffee with us, so you better get your shit together and forgive Clarke for actions unintended. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“Raven are you even listening to yourself now?!” Octavia abruptly turned the stove off, eggs unbeknownst to her burned to a blackened mess.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!”

“FUCK OFF RAY. Does she even have the spirit in her to drag her head out of her ass? Does she still know coffee from vodka?”

“Do you know a good friend from a shitty fake?”

_Hurt. Pain. Betrayal. Octavia willed the tears from her face… but how could she? She got shot in the heart._

“You best fucking be there tomorrow O, or I will know where you stand.” Raven stormed out of the kitchen slamming the kitchen door shut.

Octavia groaned. Dropship Brews was Raven’s day job, not even her main job. It was more of a hobby mixing up the best brews and fraps during her free time when she tired of mechanics. Raven Reyes was the damn best mechanic and coffee brewer in New York and the East Coast… Hands down.

But Clarke fucking stabbed her in the back demolishing any wall of their friendship.

All those times Clarke rushed to her side in her aid.

_Best friend obligations. Maybe now it was time to open those floodgates once again, to forgive and finally do what best friends are supposed to do._

_They were still best friends weren’t they? Were they?_

Octavia realized she had forgotten, but just because she had forgotten it doesn’t mean she’d forgive.

♨♨♨

 

_“How's life Clarkey?” Her father asked._

_“Fine.”_

_“You sure hon, your demeanor says otherwise.” To Jake, his daughter was an open book. She had sunken bags below her eyes, and her posture collapsed._

_“I formulated a plan to propose to her [Niylah]. It was perfectly step up, candle-lit dinner. I even cooked for her too…” Clarke stuttered._

_Jake laughed. It was a well-known fact that his daughter wasn’t the best cook in the world, the family._

_“She just packed up her bags, no last words.” She released a hard sob. “She ended our relationship because of me, because I wasn't good enough for her. Four months. Four months since Niylah took a bit of my heart and soul from me.” Jake pressed a kiss atop his daughter’s forehead, holding her in his arms muffling her sobs._

_“I've fallen into a dark hole of isolation shutting everyone and everything out. The hospital has become my outlet, my lone world, I haven't drawn or painted.”_

_“Clarke."_

_“I've hurt my best friends bad. I keeping them at bay, unwilling to let them help me. I can’t escape this dark hole.”_

_“Clarke.”_

_“They watched me suffer from afar as I began my downward spiral. Dad I-”_

_“Clarke, you're too harsh on yourself. Niylah’s an idiot for leaving you, but do not allow that woman to destroy you. Rediscover you, find you.”_

_“But--” Clarke fruitlessly tried to convince him otherwise._

_“No buts Clarkey. I want to see my old girl again. The free spirit.” Jake smiled remembering the time he overheard Clarke hardcore jamming to tunes in her art studio, or the time he stumbled upon his inebriated daughter laughing hysterically at Raven and Octavia._

_“That's exactly what Raven told me last night.”_

_“Then listen to her. Find that spark Clarkey; the one Niylah fell for. Don't shut down Clarke. Power up. Be alive.”_

_“Live,” Jake resonated holding his dear daughter close to his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “For me. I love you Clarkey. Make me proud. Rediscover the daughter I love and know. Heal.”_

_“Love you kid.” Jake looked at his daughter one final time, smiling one last time as he kissed her forehead symbolizing goodbye before the scene faded to black._

 

The blaring alarm echoed off the bedroom walls jostling Clarke to the land of living. _Don’t let Niylah win_. Her recollection was a blur, bits and pieces missing due to her highly inebriated state. _Many closest to you were forced to witnessed the Clarke we loved dissolve away into thin air_. She groaned rolling out of bed. _There’s only one way to fight through this_. She didn’t want to get up. _I want my friend back_. Way too early in the morning.

Five minutes later, Clarke stumbled into the shower yielding to her body’s much required needs. A shower was necessary. _Don’t give up_. She already has hadn’t she?

The hot steamy beads of water cascaded down on her back. Her head throbbed, each throb rebounding stronger and harder. Her life described in two words, fucked up. Since Niylah, she’d been a sorry ass wallowing in a hole of self-pity and anger. She hadn’t kept up with daily household tasks, everything basically except work at the hospital. She jumped at every surgery, came home, drank herself to sleep, repeat. Not really attentive to personal care. Her life had a huge pause button stuck on.

She figured she should be over the old breakup, but the cut lodged itself pretty deep. The agony encompassed all aspects of life, triumphing against her vain attempts to thwart its successful charge. Clarke shut her eyes, relaxing to the warmth of running water.

 _There's only one way to fight through this Clarke_. _Moving forward_. Too vividly, her traitorous mind recounted last night’s heart-to-heart. Ah, Raven had stopped by again. The entire exchange. _It’s not rocket science, don’t give up, don’t let Niylah win_. _Please_. Her friends. Raven. Octavia. Her mother. She wounded them all.

She squirted shampoo onto her hands. She wasn’t being fair. In fact, it was selfish of her to retreat to a place where no one could access her, reach her, talk to her. _Live_. She’s regressed into another personality, a polar opposite. _For me_. Best friend obligations. She’s forced them through hell, everyone. Best friend obligations. She scrubbed her blonde locks, massaging her scalp.

_Collect your shit together Griff. Expel Niylah from your thick stubborn numbskull._

_Whether YOU like it OR NOT, you WILL BE joining O and us tomorrow for coffee. Now, I know you don’t want to haul your ass from bed, or pull your ass out from work, but YOU’RE still COMING regardless._

She rinsed her hair, and peeked from the shower curtain reading the clock, _850am_. Raven arrived in ten. At this rate, she would never leave her apartment on time-- not like she was planning to. Raven gave her no choice but to listen and oblige. Best friend obligations. Clarke seriously needed to get her shit together.

Had she given up?

She didn’t know.

 

“Clarke! We’re here!” Raven’s boisterous voice sounded from the front door. She slipped into black leggings, a grey v neck, and Toms. Should she go? _I want my friend back._

Octavia glanced at Raven. _Are you sure about this? She’s coming_?

Raven confidently smiled at Octavia. _Yeah, one hundred percent. I didn’t give her much of a choice. I’m even more shocked that you came this morning._

Octavia looked away. 

 

 _They want you back Clarke_. The blonde groaned in frustration, the last shred of her former trying to suddenly reason. _They miss you, and you’ve wounded them. Get your shit together Griff!_ She swiped her bag off the dining room table plowing through her unit door.

Had she given up?

 

Octavia barged into Dropship Brews first, Raven and Clarke following. The shop was a cozy, small snuggly establishment radiating modern vibes, sleek metal tables, an array of neon blue and green cubed seats, stone walls painted a starry black the company logo sprayed in neon orange behind the cashier. Another logo in neon green decal adorned the large front window. The floors were composed of cement.

Clarke awkwardly detached herself to save a table in the front corner of the cafe by the window leaving Octavia and Raven standing in the long line.

She seated herself in an outer seat farthest from the wall. Her expression saddened. Niylah used to frequent this place dragging Clarke along. It became their Saturday morning ritual. Drink coffee, chit chat, read a book, and repeat. They sat in the back table tucked away in a secluded corner in the back. Raven saved their corner every Saturday. Fellow customers also knew not to occupy the table on Saturdays.

Just because Raven owned the shop didn’t mean she exploited her status to cut customers in line. Dropship Brews was now her daily location.

“See,” commented Raven, subtly pointing in their friend’s direction. “She’s not a lost cause O.” She watched Clarke’s eyes track passerby’s trekking to their destinations.

“And you can tell how?” Octavia crossed her arms over her chest, tense and skeptical. “She hasn’t even made a move to talk to me.”

“She’s here isn’t she? Baby steps. This is what I call progress.”

“No. Not for me. She hurt me Ray, she pushed me out. It’ll take more than some simple response.” Octavia couldn’t restrain her rage. Four fucking months. Yes she emulated bitchy, but Clarke pushed her far outside the gates first.

Raven angrily turned towards the brunette. “You MUST be the one to make the move. YOU are the one who left her side causing the strain on your friendship. YOU. It’s YOU! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“Dude. Seriously… How can you say that?! I get that she hurt you, but you abandoned her when she called for your help most, when she didn’t know she needed your assistance but her subconscious did.” Raven quickly glanced her shop’s menu. Clarke would love the Nightblood. It’s pure black coffee. “What if Lincoln left you absent of reason?”

“Yes Ray. Best friend obligations, I know.” If Lincoln ended the relationship as Niylah had, Octavia would mirror similar reactions like Clarke, but not for four months. If he had married her, then jilted her… then yes, she would become post-Niylah Clarke. Her blonde friend was to propose yes?

“O, baby steps. Everyone’s taking baby steps.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Baby steps. Understatement of the year.

They approached the table, the younger woman clutching three Nightbloods in her two hands, a new addition to the menu. One of Raven’s employees pre-made the drinks for them.

Niylah fancied Rocket Fuel, the ultimate caffeine shot one could ingest, a popular expresso to the rush hour crowd, the caffeine junkies, the adrenaline junkies, the average everyday junkie…

“Shit’s good Griff, on the house.” Raven lazily grinned. The Nightblood was her most up-to-date masterpiece, developed three months ago at midnight in a drunken stupor. She passed out, waking up nine hours later wondering who left coffee for her. She glared at Octavia. _Make your move dimwit_.

“How’s life Clarke?” asked Octavia. She needed to reach out, start the long mending exhibition. Watch her effort begin to crash and burn.

“Ok,” she answered. In actuality, Clarke was nowhere bordering okay. Every single day, a long ass knife painfully stabbed her in the gut twisting skin, constant deja vu of the day her life disintegrated. She’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t, but that’s exactly what she’s doing now isn’t she? Dredging up memories of Niylah. However, her friends already knew that.

“Good.” Octavia gave a halfhearted forced smile. Clark looked nowhere near okay, she looked like shit. Niylah did a damaging number on her.

“Fine,” Clarke insisted. Her friend probed the depths of her eyes for further explanation. “Seriously.” She weakly grinned to prove her point, blatantly failing.

Octavia didn’t bother to probe further. She didn’t care.

Raven flashed another angry stare at the brunette.

Octavia internally groaned. “So have you at least caught up on _Orange is the New Black_? Season four is due soon.”

 “No—”

“Knee deep in voluntary surgeries cooped up in your loft shut away from the rest of the world,” Raven listed every menial item. “On vacation from civilization, hermitland, far in lala land.” She ticked the numbers off on her fingers.

Clarke stared down at her feet. Raven is just Raven. Her own essence. She wished to reveal the entire story of her depressive months, but she wasn't strong enough yet. She really wanted to tell her best friends, not shroud them in constant darkness. Maybe someday. Maybe someday when Clarke could firmly plant her feet and stop running. Her mouth wouldn’t move.

“No worries Clarke,” said Raven sipping her brown coffee cup. “Whenever you’re ready, we’re ready.” She shot the brunette another steely glare.

Clarke couldn’t fathom how lucky she was to have Octavia and Raven as her friends. Through thick and thin, to the fiery pits of hell and back. Though sometimes Octavia’s presence lacked, but she was partially to blame. She expelled Octavia who initially tried to build her back up, comfort her during the first two weeks.

Up until today, she couldn’t remember the last time she allowed herself a moment of tranquility. She gazed out the window watching the bustling daily life of a New Yorker.

“So what season are you on?” asked Octavia. She fidgeted the cup, swallowing her pride. Honestly, she didn’t want another glare from Raven, or her head chewed off. 

“Season two,” Clarke tersely answered. She longed for the silence of her own company.

Raven mockingly gasped. “Griff, season four is releasing in a month!”

“Shut up Ray.” Octavia smirked. “I need a refresher without this one...” She dramatically gestured towards the Latina. “Who can’t control her impulsive comments.”

Clarke forced another tight smile.

“FYI, I’m not that bad guys. I’m just detecting the flaws in the plot and character relationships. It’s not rocket science guys. However, I rock at that too.” Raven smirked. “Hands down, what do you expect from a person with a PhD in mechanical engineering and a coffee shop established during their free time out of sheer boredom?” She had to brag.

Clarke and Octavia groaned simultaneously. Raven was employing her double career as an excuse anew.

A scalding sweltering hot liquid splattered onto Clarke’s grey v-neck tee soaking her chest. She passed as a gym rat excessively perspiring, sweat drenching her tee. Grey is not a good color to become sweaty in. She spun one-eighty, surveying the hooded individual, brown braided hair tips peeking from the hood that concealed the features of her face, a shadow casted over majority of her features. Her icy blue eyes bored into impassive forest green.

“Crap,” the brunette muttered, sparing the blonde no attention. She didn't have time for this. As it was already, she was late, thus she could endure the day absent of her drink. She swiftly fled the scene sprinting to the door out into sunny New York never looking back. It wasn’t affordable time crunch and all.

Clarke assessed the damage inflicted upon her, inspecting how much of the black liquid her shirt absorbed. She was pissed off. The liquid soaked her chest area. The doctor in her concluded prognosis a minor burn due to Raven’s coffee intentionally heated to steamy and very warm. Raven handed her napkins passing a few to Octavia assisting dabbing the liquid from her shirt.

Clarke clenched her fists, nails threatening to break skin. The brunette never apologized, but walked away as if she didn't exist. Walked away like Niylah had without looking back. Clarke rose from her seat shrugging off her friends’ restraining hands storming after the stranger determined not to allow escape this time.

She spotted the hooded brunette several feet in front of her, halted by a green light at the intersection. She snuck behind the woman, tugging on her wrist. “You,” she somewhat hissed. The hooded figure turned, face mildly irritated. “You,” she repeated. The brunette blankly looked at her, unintimidated by the situation. “Coffee bitch,” she growled.

 

Lexa sighed. It was the blonde from Dropship Brews, the one she splayed her coffee on. Recognition flashed in her eyes, currently raking over the woman’s curvy figure unashamed. She was quite attractive, hair lightly brushing against her shoulders, acute tawny-beige collar bones peeking out from the cut of the tee. Striking, not to mention, her boobs were impressive, notable due to the damp coating of coffee causing the tee to cling firmly. The blonde clearly captured her attention. Internally to some extent, she wished to encounter this woman differently on cordial terms.

The blonde closed the space between them, sizing the brunette. Her heated breath grazed Lexa’s skin causing her throat to involuntarily hitch. “You offered no apologies.” The blonde was exceptionally close to her, vibrant curls whisking against Lexa’s face (barely and briefly). For a split second, her mind fuzzed. Her big brain was at a loss for words by means of first encounter stranger… or maybe it was the leggings hugging the blonde’s cute ass, or the dip of the v-neck. A foreign concept to playboy CEO Lexa Woods. _Composed_. She had never come across an individual as beautiful as the blonde before her. No one-night stand could ever compare to this woman. _Control_.

Anya would tease Lexa forever if she discovered her masterful smoothness temporarily was unable to formulate a response to a newly stranger encountered on the sidewalk by Dropship Brews. She was going to be late to her meeting. “If I recall, you decided to sit in the worst seat in the shop… exposed to customers entering and exiting.” She smirked. “So if I’m right, it is solely your fault because you chose the worst seat possible.” _Nailed it_.

The blonde blinked, checking her ears. She balled her fists, about to pounce. The green-eyed woman spilled her coffee on her! She was right to sit wherever she pleased. “If I recall correctly! Fellow customers are supposed to be aware of their surroundings, aware of their coffee vice versa. That’s! That’s recalled correctly! Normal people also APOLOGIZE!”

“Enlighten me next time.” Lexa began walking away. She had no time for this. She was late for work. “May we meet again.”

Not this time. Clarke stalked after the brunette. “Griff!” Raven swooped beside her friend, grabbing her arm. She noticed Clarke’s fists. She connected the dots quickly, eyes flicking from Clarke to the other woman. “Come on, Octavia is waiting for us.”

 ♨♨♨

 

Lexa wove in and out of the maze of New Yorkers. She glanced at her watch, 10am, she was very late. The run-in with the blonde stranger held her up longer than anticipated. What the hell had happened?

 **Lexa** : Did you take Socks to the vet?

 **Anyass** : Nice to see you too, you owe me for your evil kitty’s claws.

 **Anyass** : A compensation per scratch. FYI. I have like hundreds.

 **Lexa** : :)

 **Anyass** : A party then, I'm dragging you as my plus one. Friday at 6pm. See you.

 **Lexa** : What I do for you... Fine. later asshole.

As Lexa rushed to her company building, her mind wandered back to the blonde and her passionate azure eyes Lexa could contently drift about in for ages. She hadn’t engaged in an exchange with anyone as tenacious as the stranger. Never.

The higher important matter, no stranger held her curious attention.

Never.

She neared Trikru Industries, the number one tech company in the world. The colossal tower echoed aspects of the Tribune Tower of Chicago, but futuristic and grey, reflective windows a sustainable alternative to increase AC use.

Lexa stepped her office located in a tall skyscraper in the penthouse. Her decorations weren't mainstream, accolades and prestigious merits lining the white walls awol. They were pictures of family, friends, memories, and cherished company creations, however her personal presence was sparse—very. She relaxed in her black Herman office chair enjoying the tranquil silence before the storm. “Send him up Gustus.”

“Lexa Woods, CEO of Trikru Industries” addressed Cage Wallace. He wore a white classic suit and tie, his black hair trimmed and combed parting his dark-brown hair to the side emulating Ryan Gosling and failing. She hated the dude. He is a cocky arrogant bastard who gets everything handed on a gold platter like Wallace Technologies, his father’s precious baby. “Took you long enough to arrive.” He inspected her choice of clothing, the pullover hoodie and jeans. “Rather unprofessional today aren’t we?”

“I believe I am free to wear as I choose.” Lexa inspected her hasty wardrobe decision. “When you’re as successful as me Cage, you can wear anything your heart desires.” She smirked. “But that’s not soon isn’t it? Is daddy not there rushing to your side? Running your business for you?”

He struggled to civilly passed her a stack of files. His effort resulted in a quick shove. Lexa couldn’t help the amused laugh spilling from her lips. “I hope you agree to this collaboration. Picture it, my distinguished company and your prestige working side by side producing the best result to date. And Lexa…” He spat rather venomously. “Wallace Technologies is functioning greatly without my father. In fact, I foresee colossal accomplishments and gained momentum in the near future.”

Lexa, purposefully, languidly reached for the files before scrutinizing its contents. She considered his appointment a space of squandered opportunity. She had meetings with her twelve sub divisions discussing more pressing matters. Cage’s plans called for creating weapons capable of wiping the enemy in a matter of seconds. It required excessive trial counts, but impossible wasn’t a possibility. Progress would be slow, and success not for a while.

“Nanobots to terminate the opponent. Terminate, wound, or torture, either one. Fireable via firearms or drone strike, storage available in automobiles a specifically designed button to release them, or portable console, the vast infinite possible options.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Trikru Industries’ top notch equipment and background in auto and tech can make this all happen.” Cage gestured to the files in her hands. “My associate Dr. Tsing has conducted many preliminaries and virtual tests confirming the possibilities of the project…”

Who was blondie? Even with her livid rage, Lexa couldn’t help but notice the unnoticeable faltering in the blonde’s voice. The tone was delicate, slightly unstable. She couldn’t help but wonder what or who, caused the blonde to react in the manner she did. She also couldn’t stop from wondering what those pillowy breasts would feel like against her expertly skilled tongue making Blondie beg for release… or better, the wet center begging for touch. What did the blonde taste like?

Cage dragged on his proposition. She knew her answer already. “We can end our wars faster, quicker, less casualties. The government will practically empty their wallets for this, the top-notch weapon available on the market. Our earnings and reputations would be increased drawing more clientele. Lexa, we—-”

“—-are having no part in this,” Lexa said, CEO mask reinstated, her head reinstated. His proposal negated the very core beliefs of her company, no weapon creation. Under no circumstances would her company manufactures weapons, let alone develop them. Her parents were pacifists, peacemakers, Samaritans. Originally the company’s sole purpose was to fashion medicines, aids, and contraptions to assist the sick, poor, and struggling. Her father, then unearthed his hidden knack for designing cars, explicitly sports cars. “You arranged this meeting acknowledging I don’t do weaponry, an outright waste of my time.” She tossed the files at the man-child. “Have a nice day Mr. Wallace.” She signaled Gustus to lead Cage off the premises.

Blondie. Her conscience was committing sin. Totally.

 ♨♨♨

 

Raven invited Clarke to stay for dinner, hamburger night, since Octavia was at Lincoln’s. Earlier, Clarke, the pacifist, the kind selfless bean, had almost kickstarted a brawl in the middle of a sidewalk —- over a cup of spilt coffee. No one fights over spilled coffee. _Spilled coffee for christ’s sake!_ Clarke wasn’t classified as emotionally stable, her feelings scattered all spectrums passing as bipolar. Her friend was lucky as hell she caught up when she did.

Clarke sat on her queen bed lined with orange sheets eating a hamburger. Maybe she overreacted earlier today. _I love you too Clarke_. Fuck. She indeed was a mess. “I’m sorry.” She charged after the stranger an inch from pinning her down.

“Why?” Raven quizzically looked at her.

“I ruined it.” Clarke casted her gaze at her untouched burger.

“Shush Clarke, you're not ruining anything,” Raven warmly smiled.

Clarke started to shut down, crawl back into her safe, protected world of hermit-land. She began to gather her things, ready to bolt.

Raven put her plate down, laying a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, “No, no, no. Stop enabling Niylah control over you. Clarke, you are your own person who can dig themselves from this hole. Niylah wasn’t your fault. The coffee spill wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“I’ll always have your back. Like I said before, obligations of friendship, You’re my best friend.”

“Am I acting like one?” Clarke silently questioned.

“Confront your feelings Griff, quit that attitude. The third room is still yours if you want it. I’d love your company. I'm sure O would secretly love it too,” Raven’s serious eyes met her friend’s letting her words sink into Clarke’s brain for processing. “It’s the best thing for you Griff, your loft holds too many painful memories of the past. I also kinda miss you.” _I want my friend back._ “We can face your emotional load together.” _Like old times when we faced everything together as a team_.

Was moving in the right move? Was it too soon? Raven stilled awaiting the anticipated rejection.

Clarke nodded, silent for a moment. Her loft did hold many afflicting memories. Her life was a wreck. Her friendship was almost destroyed. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t much of a response, but it was better than uncomfortable awkward silence. Raven supported her burger in her mouth, staring blankly at the blonde, dumbfounded Clarke even said anything let alone accept her offer.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured again like an idiot. Raven vetoed the forsaken idea of abandoning her side and held unyielding audacity to stubbornly keep attacking her sturdy blockade until she prevailed fracturing it. She was the luckiest person alive.

“Well duh, of course asshat,” Rave commented. “I am the best, even better than O.” She smirked chomping a chunk of her burger, disentangling her arms around Clarke.

Had Clarke given up?

She still didn’t know.

 ♨♨♨

 

Clarke parked herself on a Central Park bench of a mid _10am_ May morning, the leaves circling in the light cool breezing winds, birds chirping pacifying tunes alleviating her qualm-plagued mind. She sought refuge from life. From everything that has happened in the past several months.

She was fully aware she hadn’t given up on herself. Way down within herself, in her innermost core, a hearth persisted in the darkness and prevailed, its flickering light still ablaze. Old pre-Niylah Clarke rooted herself far in retreat, in her safeguarded sanctuary remote from the world, and herself. She still was present, but she was choosing to run away.

Her choice entirely.

 Today, she found herself running from her mother. She gave Clarke the day off, practically booted her legendary ass from the hospital premises proceeding to then trail Clarke to have a heart-to-heart-mother-daughter talk. Clarke didn’t want to confront her feelings just yet. She couldn’t, the pain would be near-insurmountable.

During these past four months, Clarke secured the title of legendary, completing difficult surgeries in record time, results impeccable. Clarke sure had gathered a following among the interns worshipping her as if she were a goddess.

Her mother claimed work seized her life in its strong grasp, commandeering her life after Niylah. Her mother was also the second person to tell her to move on with her life and be a normal person for once.

Then again… what even was normal?

Like her drawing days, she spent nearly twenty hours a day in surgery. She also had no regard to her personal hygiene, friends, and emotions. She got into the zone, and stayed in the zone.

 **ZeroGReyes** : Yo Griff, tomorrow night?

 **LittleBlake** : Lit!

 **ZeroGReyes** : Technically, you will be attending because you are occupying the third room in our apartment.

 **LittleBlake** : ?

 **ZeroGReyes** : You see O, um…

 **ZeroGReyes** : I um…

 **ZeroGReyes** : I was going to tell you later today ;)

 **LittleBlake** : …

 **SkaiPrisa** : … … …

 **LittleBlake** : Guess I’ll be seeing you later tonight Clarke.

 **ZeroGReyes** : Lol

 **SkaiPrisa** : ;)

Clarke reviewed her response. A simple smiley face. It was the least she could muster.

Truth: Clarke didn’t want to party. She didn’t want to interact, socialize, re-integrate herself with the delinquents, with Raven’s other strange friends, with life.

Clarke hunkered down in the back corner of Dropship Brews nose stuck in a book, _True Believer_ , devouring each and every printed word. Jeremy Marsh, scientific debunker journalist, in small town Boone Creek. Currently he was visiting the cemetery to witness the ghostly light apparitions himself where he spots Lexie Darnell. She already knew they were soulmates at first meeting. It was Nicholas Sparks for christ’s sake. Clarke savoringly sipped her Nightblood coffee, Raven really outdone herself this time. For once, Clarke’s troubled conscience granted a flash of peace.

She felt at ease, mind adrift from Niylah, away from the turmoils of her life She felt at ease, tranquil in the company of Lexie Darnell and Jeremy Marsh. _Live for me_. Her dad would beam in pride right now, she thought. Here she was, finding peace in a paperback novel, no qualms, actually giddy for the story to come.

She had unearthed her new coping mechanism; well not completely brand new considering she read excessively after her father died.

Technically in reality, she had unearthed another method of running away.

She flipped to the next page.

 

The first time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, she was impatiently standing in the long line at Dropship Brews, mentally willing the line to move faster with no availing success. Dropship Brews had the longest damn line just to obtain a caffeine fix every American sought after. Fortunately, Anya cleared her morning schedule, no meetings, no clients, no surveillance, unquestionably nothing. Her attention mindlessly flickered to the back of the shop from pure boredom. Her gaze settled on blonde hair. Was that Blondie?

She hurriedly waved bills in the employee’s face, sputtering off her order, tacking on an extra coffee to her bill. Spur of the moment decision. Blondie did strange things to her as of yesterday. She paused three feet away from the seated blonde, eyes devouring the beauty of the goddess, unsure of whether to approach or not approach. She couldn’t not actively stare. It was a confounding and preposterous thought.

Their prior encounter wasn’t amicable, Lexa’s coffee soaking the poor woman’s chest, the blonde enraged growling at her, Lexa’s snarky counter-comments, the ludicrous idea of the blonde nearly rendering Lexa speechless, the odd butterflies in her stomach when heated breath touched her skin, the — Why did the blonde render her to shambles? Discombobulated? Disarrayed?

When pigs fly, Lexa Woods would be reduced to shambles… COULD be reduced to shambles.

Pigs don’t fly.

“You know… you shouldn’t really stare like that. Obviously you weren’t taught the art of subtlety. I sensed your eyes distantly.” Clarke rotated her seat to Lexa, expression souring at her dressed in a black leather jacket ensemble. Her tone was lifeless and monotone. She returned to her former position, her porcelain hand fluidly flipping to the next page once more. “Are you here to apologize?”

Clarke absolutely condemned the fact the brunette was here at all. Why couldn’t the coffee bitch leave her alone in her own peace? Her reaction yesterday was unwarranted, but she abhorred the fashion the green-eyed lady strutted about oozing superfluous confidence and coolness. She couldn’t quite understand how a person became so… the brunette.

Clarke didn’t even know why her voice even left her mouth.

Lexa suddenly felt self-conscious. How did she notice her? Was she self-pronounced? Too brazen and straightforward? Lexa Woods never second guessed herself. “Morning to you too beautiful.” She slid the extra order of coffee in front of the blonde’s line of vision obstructing the words.

God. What was happening to her?

Clarke glared at the brunette, eyes lasers burning into the other woman’s soul.

“Book nerd.” Lexa couldn’t exactly call blondie a nerd however. Secretly, she binged documentaries droning on and on infinitely about the deep blue ocean and its marine life on Netflix, Discovery Channel, and home DVDs, marathon-ed comic after comic delving further into the Marvel and DC Universes identically seeking geek shop after geek shop meticulously combing through every issue of her favorite heroes occasionally picking up a new line, and could navigate a tea shop like no one’s business. She had a strong tea game. Once in a while, Lexa completed a real book of literature ranging from fiction to nonfiction to memoirs.

Anya had to listen to her lengthy ramblings of squids, crackpot theories, and revelations of life. Her best friend always responded by shoving a warmed tea in Lexa’s hands. She read the novel title of the blonde’s book, _True Believer_. Hmmm, Nicholas Sparks. You can do better. She hadn’t read the title, but Nick equaled too cheesy and romantic. She preferred action and philosophical, her fascinating informative videos, and comics.

Five minutes passed. Clarke was finally absorbed wholly in the pages of her paperback heart and soul forfeiting to Lexia and Jeremy’s story, the shop chatter and buzz tuned to zero volume. However, the wondrous moment of calm was short-lived.

“Dare I ask what’s the plot?”

Clarke fixed another icy glare. The woman probably had nothing to do this morning, and she just had to choose to pursue Clarke interrupting her one period of tranquility absent of pain, stress, and sadness, her SINGLE moment.

“Just trying-na socialize like a normal human being. Sorry for doing what normal people do.” The brunette held her hands up in mock surrender to Clarke’s iced glare. Her glare was lowkey a major turn-on. “So Lexie Darnell…”

Clarke slammed her book down, fiery blue eyes ice burning into green. She’s had enough. “Now— you decide to apologize, and not apologize for the coffee incident. I cannot believe you and your smug, overconfident, rude self. You want everyone to think your above it all but I see right through you. I’m guessing you are a fuck-girl burned badly in the past, but you want some advice? Get over it! I’ve gotten badly burned and it still hurts like hell, but I’m not giving up and losing myself to the depression it carries! Just because you’ve been burned, doesn’t give you the fucking right to flirt with me, to harass me!”

Clarke felt the need to release her anger locked away all these months, the bubbling rage she had tried to run farther and farther from.

“You and your sky-high ego making you believe you run the world, command everyone who you expect to bow down and surrender to your desires kissing your knuckles in reverence. But guess what! The world doesn’t revolve around you! It doesn’t work like that!” _Fuck you Niylah_.

Lexa swallowed whatever words were in mid-roll off of her tongue. Blondie’s unwarranted, unexpected raging outburst startled her. She surely didn’t forecast the potential temper of the blonde. Blondie hadn’t permitted time for her response.

“Why can’t you act normal and apologize for shit’s sake! It requires only two letters and minimal exertion!”

“Thank you.  Those are two letters aren’t they?” Lexa smirked.

“You……….” Clarke picked up her belongings, terminating the conversation by stormily exiting via employees only door. Thank god Raven owned the place. She would’ve blown up right there in public because of spilt coffee. But she already had hadn’t she?

Clarke barged into Raven’s office located behind the shop, slouching against the wall in relief. Her best friend’s office had the constant incessant whirs of machinated tools as a result of the custom built work station installed in the corner.

The screeches died, Raven glared at Clarke, flinging her protective mask on the metal table. “You cannot charge in as you please. Now, you might as well sit there on the floor or sit on the couch, and tell me what the hell is going on. I’ve got quite a bit of work today.”

Clarke collapsed on the sofa screaming into a pillow. “Coffee,” she grumbled. Who interrupts a person clearly engrossed in a book?

Raven raised her eyebrow.

Clarke nodded.

“Jesus Christ.”

Clarke stared blankly at Raven.

“Lexa Woods. CEO of Trikru Industries? The epitome of auto and tech companies combined?” Raven grinned at Clarke. “Green eyes, brunette hair, swagger, appears indifferent? I didn’t recognize her with braids and a hoodie. My dream job at her company…. The dream for low-life mechanics like me? Million-dollar bachelorette published in headlines as 21st Century Playboy Prowess?”

“That sure explains her behavior,” Clarke mumbled. Lexa seeped egotistical. The bitch instinctively knew what buttons to push, how to get a rise. The persistence to socialize with her. Was she another prize for the brunette to claim under her conquests. Raven’s description confirmed everything. She confessed, Lexa was a masterful expert in the art of smoothness, but it proved ineffective on her.

Raven propped herself on the table, legs dangling in the air. No one cries over spilt coffee. Clarke should mentally be aware. Best friend obligations. Deliver it straight. “You’re sort of kind-a overreacting Princess, still emotionally bipolar and unstable from Niylah fallout.”

No duh. Lexa was really a cute nerdy bean. She just had issues separating CEO from warm soul, and a mean habit of picking up girls on the fly. Dear old Clarkey needed to see past that. After a yearlong friendship with Anya, she has heard the blonde rant on and on about Lexa’s maddening obsessions of Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, etc etc. She listened to her other blonde friend explain how to soothe Lexa’s random ramblings of “look at those majestic crabs” and “beautiful squids”. Tea: the answer to everything.

“Stop calling me that. She’s simply a dick. She won’t leave me alone.” Clarke rose identically positioning herself next to Raven.

“Sort of impossible not to.” Raven placed her hand atop Clarke’s, the reassuring touch saying you will survive, as she winked. “On the bright side though, this woman has you talking! You’re angrily talking! It’s lit!”

Clarke’s mouth opened as if to fire some retort, but then closed swiftly rethinking her next words.

Raven smirked, impervious to the blonde’s inner going grief and rage.

“Fucking spilt coffee,” Clarke grumbled.

Honestly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I've been very absent lately and I'm sorry for that. I'm working on the fifth and sixth chapter and i think y'all are going to like it. I've also had to lately find inspiration for this story from several books I've read that I picked up from Barnes and Noble... Did y'all also know how hard it is to write when double majoring in pre-med biology concentration and creative writing english concentration while at the same time being a member of my college basketball team? How are y'all doing? Or how have y'all been?
> 
> Yours Truly,  
> @Debdamnalycia


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a party tonight, and Anya attempts to help her dear sister out, buttttt who knows what will happen tonight ;)

The clock read 4:58pm. Lexa sat on her bed desperately wishing that she could leave the room and escape to her sweet, sweet freedom. Four hours had passed since her lovely, kind older sibling cornered her in the kitchen of their temporarily shared home. Lexa had walked through the front door, then placing her keys on the nearby counter when she felt a sudden force take her by surprise. Soon after, the then, unknown force, strongly steered her in direction of her bedroom barricading her in, and thus here Lexa was suffering unjustly at the hands of Anya.

“Please explain why I am doing this again?” Lexa groaned. Her head was pounding, aching beyond the possible bounds of an ache. She couldn’t comprehend how one could seamlessly pass time by solving the greatest puzzle in life called, “Mix and Match” aka “The Clothes Game.” Literally. For the past four hours, Anya has held her captive as she rummaged through Lexa’s closet piecing together outfit after outfit only to reject them and start over. Tonight was supposed to be a relaxed night. It was sister night, not party night.

“Because the devil-kitty sunk its claws into me. Tell me why you refused unbearable cuteness of a dog?” Anya rummaged through Lexa’s drawers tossing aside dweebish tees such as Marvel and DC. She was one of the rare few who knew The Lexa Woods: a giant nerd, the queen of geekdom, nerd world. “Lex, you haven’t left the office once this week. Chill out, lay back, let your spirit run freely! Tonight is the perfect opportunity to do just that!”

Lexa’s annoyed look deepened to a scowl. Anya seemed to glean each and every semblance of joy that she could from moments like this; her swift rise in demeanor, the light shade that colored her face. She relished the seldom opportunities to exercise her sisterly power by showing Lexa she knew something was up, making Lexa constantly try to de-puzzle the mystery of what exactly she knew. “I still don’t understand. By the way wasn’t tonight supposed to be a night with only the two of us?” Lexa bore her eyes into the other woman’s. “You, yourself, said this and swore on our mother’s grave.”

“See Lex,” Anya drawled, “that’s where your wrong. I did not swear on mother’s grave. Besides, this isn’t going to be just any relaxed night out. I promise you won’t regret this.” She catapulted a leather black jacket, stormy-grey tee, black legging combo at her idiot sister. “Get changed.”

Lexa dramatically rolled her eyes as she shifted onto her stomach near the foot of the bed. Anya and her theatrics. She tended to over exaggerate everything. Deadset. However, Lexa knew something was up. Anya knew something. She always did. Lexa was the forever clueless, frustratingly unaware of the knowledge Anya acquired. She quietly sighed as she crossed her arms below her chin. 

“Hey don’t look so gloomy! Hot girls are going to be there,” Anya playfully prodded. She winked mischievously. A reliable source recently reported back to her about a particular blonde’s attendance status. “So wear what I tell you to wear and you’ll be fine!” She had to make her baby sister’s outfit scream sexy, but not in a fuck-girl way.

Lexa glanced up to the sky, she silently prayed to the karma gods to grant her the fruits of good will, and beam her far from the torturous game of dress up. She couldn’t understand the game of mix and match. What was the point of dressing then undressing a billion times? Anya was definitely diabolically planning something. “Do I really have to wear this?”

Anya glared at her idiot sister. “Of FUCKING course.”

“You know… I can get girls in my Captain America tee anytime I wanted. I got the looks, the charm, and the moves. So whyyyyy are you making me do this,” whined Lexa. She only had to stall and play the game before Anya would stumble and unintentionally drop subtle hints of her knowledge. “Tonight we would’ve curled up in our big fuzzy blankets sipping tea from our favorite mugs on the couch while watching _Orange is the New Black_. That’s the plan not this.”

Anya let out an exasperated groan.  She gestured to the outfit she picked out. “Please go get your eyes checked Lex. I’m the hot badass, you’re the nerdy dork, so fucking change already. Next time, I guarantee you get to choose what we’re doing. Okay?”

Lexa scoffed. As far as she knew, and as obvious as it was, everyone knew she was the hotter one of the two. “Fine.”

“All I’m trying to do is help you and this is what I get in return.” Anya threw her hands up in the air in defeat. “One last time Lex. P to the fucking goddamn lease put your clothes on idot.”

Over the many years of sisterhood, Lexa has learned to love the sisterly banter. She had learned it was how Anya displayed her rare signs of affection. When they were younglings, no one could stop it. For many, they mistook it as fighting; though those did happen on occasion. She also learned that it was in these moments of banter and friendly torment that her sister found amusement and complete contentment. “Even a fool knows when to surrender.”

Anya decided to give her idiot younger sister a pass. “So who’s Blondie Lex?” She quirked a brow finally deciding to reveal her newfound information. “A little birdie flew by and chirped to me about a particular blonde you’ve been finding every excuse to go stalk at Dropship Brews. Apparently every morning you purchase your coffee, then another coffee for her and sit with her in silence patiently waiting for her to take your gift.”

Lexa shifted to a standstill, whatever stark retort squashed, hushed silence enveloping them unburdening the padlocked tension. The air became thick, suffocating. Her throat slightly constricted. It sung a quiet hum, but at the same time vociferously screamed Spill! And through all of this, she subconsciously formulated a single lone thought. Blondie. That was all her mind thought about these days. She thought she had at last purged that particular blonde from her otherwise busy brain. She didn’t understand.

Her inner self knew that Blondie had captured her wandering gaze on that fateful day that she had spilled coffee on the blonde. Her inner self had her instinctive hoe-ish tendencies on lockdown prohibiting them from breaking free of their cells. Lexa had the entire pool of New York City to shuffle through, an entire pool to handpick who she wanted, and each and every one those in the pool would say yes to her in a heartbeat. Yet, here she was she yearning for the attention of a woman who didn’t want anything to do with her.

See that is Lexa’s problem, her stupid predicament. She wasn’t accustomed to the feeling, not since Costia, her ex-girlfriend who left her because she couldn’t trust Lexa anymore. She claimed Lexa was cheating on her behind her back, resuming her old habits because she grew tired and bored of Costia. But that’s the thing, her womanizer fuckgirl tendencies were ingrained habit. Once ingrained, they are difficult to break.

Lexa admitted, she did sleep around once… twice… five times, but only because her feelings weren’t clicking in sync, they no longer reflected Costia’s. So yes, Lexa grew tired and bored. She hadn’t handled the situation properly, she should’ve confronted Costia about the latest development, discuss their future together, hope Costia would understand, and end it. But… Costia caught her in the act.

Isn’t communication and trust key to a working relationship?

A smile tugged at her lips shrugging away her time con suming thoughts. Blondie. She couldn’t quite place her.

Blondie. A smile tugged at her mouth’s edges. Blondie, the biggest mystery of her life.

What was happening to her?

 

Anya stared open-mouthed at her suddenly wide-eyed, toothy grinning sister. “Spill Lex! I haven’t seen you this joyful and leashed in years since Costia!” She launched a shirt at Lexa. Nothing slipped past her sharp, perceptive radar. “Is it finally happening?!”

Lexa deflected the oncoming barrage of shirt missiles defending her precious shreds of pride residing in her fort. “I… have… no…” she deflected several shirts before being pelted by two, “idea… what… you are… alluding to.”

“Is the big, bad, powerful CEO of _Trikru Industries_ , Lexa Woods, becoming a smol-whipped bean of gushiness?” Anya mock gasped, throwing another round of shirts at the brunette. “I mean,” she did crazy hand motions at Lexa, “look at you!”

But blondie…

The drop dead gorgeous, ultrafine beaut. Her passion, her anger, her fiery persona, her love of books (hey she could potentially be a nerd). Up close at arms-length minus the rush of their prior meeting, the blonde proved herself to be even more dazzling. Her legs seemed to go on for eternity. There were no words to describe it. It was…… It was what? Lo---

\---Smack! Lexa flinched, her body jerking on the borderline verge of toppling over. “What the fuck Ahn! Is there a fucking goddamn good reason why you are catapulting a fucking hailstorm of shirts at me aggressively pelting my face?”

Anya emphatically raised her hands high to the sky in prayer crying out, “Dear god, save me! My sister is finally putting an end to her shenanigans!”

Lexa groaned.

_You want everyone to think your above it all but I see right through you._

Captain America Lexa. Captain America. Be Captain America!

_But guess what! The world doesn’t revolve around you! It doesn’t work like that!_

Only blondie possessed the guts to say that directly to her face, in a fit of rage to be exact. It was kind of hot, but more importantly, the blonde held validation. BUT IT WAS REALLY HOT. SMOKING. HOT. SEXINESS.

“Alexandria Augustus Anastasia Woods. I hereby declare you insanely whipped.” Anya analyzed at her sister’s strawberry red blush threatening to break surface.

Lexa vigorously shook her head. She pulled a pillow onto her lap, grip tightening as seconds passed. “No I—” Her futile attempt at denial failed.

A childish teenage girl crush? A meek crush? A serious infatuation?

Deadset all Lexa knew, blondie chained her to a wall in her dungeon unable to break free of her grasp. A few days and she already felt herself crashing from the skies to the ground hard following the laws of gravity to blondie. She was sex starved, wrung dry. But did she really care?

“Lex, Lex, Lex. In record time, the blonde has you halfway to whipped. Completely unheard of.” Anya flung another Doctor Who shirt at Lexa. “Three days and counting I am blessed with peace.”

“I-I-“ Lexa gave up on using the pillow as a stress ball. She tossed it to the side, then hastily tearing off her red graphic tee to conceal the blush rising to her cheeks by-product of accepting the stone cold truth: in the span of three days, blondie had her unequivocally crushing as a hormonal teenage girl would. Why else would she be wrung dry for three days? Blondie.

She desperately wanted to sink below the sheets into hiding.

“Seriously, three days of no sex Lexa. She must’ve really done a number on you.”

Blondie was going to be the death of her.

♨♨♨

 

Lexa slammed the slick, black, carbon fiber exterior door of Anya’s Trigeda 500, a company car perfect for tonight seating two in red pads attached to the carbon fiber tub, shut. This model was one of Trikru Industries’ best: the black roof fragment adorned by two aperture conduits and two parallel lines consisting of five holes organized by cylinder sets, hints of red shadowing. The car even had a voice activated engine and radio system.

She gazed off into space the entire twenty-five-minute car ride to SoHo, deep in dreamland.

“I said shut up.” Lexa studied the brownstone building before her. She was ashamed of her inner conscience, concocting sinful imagining of what she craved from blondie, what she desired, to enact. Blondie screaming her name in release as her thighs wrapped around her head in worship as her expert tongue flicked in and out, and her extremely long fingers achieved the G-spot time and time again. She relished Blondie’s thighs squeezing her head harder and harder, muffling surrounding ambience, but not enough to mute blondie’s sexy moans as she came. She imagined the blonde clenching around her fingers, marveling at how tight the woman was. She wanted Blondie screaming her name in an endless chant as her fingers pumped furiously in and out knuckle deep in a rut at last languidly lifting a coated finger to her lips to at last—-

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Anya smirked anew as she held her hands up in mock surrender. She wasn’t stupid. Lexa was an open book. One could basically consider Anya a mega expert on her younger sister--- obviously. Her little sister was most definitely off in lala land conjuring interactions with Clarke. If only the blonde knew what effect she had on Lexa. Anya chuckled quietly to herself. She never thought she’d live to see this day.

For each day that passed, Lexa felt a piece of her own self-resolve of keeping her emotions at bay disappear. She wanted to please Blondie in any way imaginable. She simply wanted to compensate for the horrid day she spilled her searing hot coffee onto the blonde, and of course the exchanges that took place afterwards. Lexa wanted her in a way she has never wanted anyone before. Her attempts to formulate words failed when it came to trying to talk to the blonde. The words she wished to say lodged themselves in the back of her throat too afraid to leave her mouth, so instead the instinctive public playgirl jerk persona came out. Maybe she shouldn’t speak, and communicate instead strictly through acts of kindness because she seemed to screw every encounter with Blondie up.

“So who’s hosting” Lexa tried to steer her sister to a new topic. She couldn’t shake herself free of blondie’s powerful thrall no matter how much effort she gave. She stopped fighting a long time ago. A heart wants what it wants, and right now, Lexa wanted Blondie.

Anya stared incredulously at her sister. “A close friend. You’ll meet her sooner or later.” She locked her car embarking on the journey of stairs. Understatement, Raven Reyes was her second best friend after her forever and always younger sister, Lexa. The two immediately clicked when Anya had walked into Dropship Brews for the first time. “Now or never loser,” she called behind her.

What was the blonde to Lexa now? It was a now common question she found materializing haphazardly in her mind. She knew the blonde definitely wasn’t a one-night stand type of girl. Lexa found herself yearning for more. She desired more; a relat--- no she couldn’t complete the thought. The truth: she couldn’t do it. Why? She didn’t know.

Lexa groaned. Blondie was all that she could think about forty-eight one hundred.

She followed Anya into the complex.

This party better be good.

 

Lexa watched Anya bang on the dainty white door, purposefully obstructing the keyhole, an evil grin spreading across her friend’s features. She thought it odd how the dirty blonde could gain joy from small malicious actions. “Who the fuck you think you are?” a familiar voice shouted from inside trying to identify the visitor in vain from the covered eye hole. She sounded slightly drunk, the borderline of tipsy. Lexa couldn’t pinpoint who the voice belonged to.

She watched her sister bubble into explosive laughter. “Reyes! It’s Anya and Lexa Woods!” Lexa slapped herself in her face. “Reyes” was Anya’s closest friend.

“Fucker!” A brunette pulled the door open, shooting Anya a chilling death stare. Her arms were angrily crossed together resting on her chest. She dressed in jeans and a red-orange baseball tee. Her eyes roamed Lexa’s figure sharply examining every minute detail as if inspecting her as if she had a test to pass. “Lexa Woods. Raven Reyes, Raven, Ray, that bitch, whatever suits you.” Raven glared at Anya again. _What the hell! Your plus one is Lexa? Clarke’s Lexa?_

For the past three days, Raven had suffered tremendously listening to Clarke’s raging endless rants. She had sacrificed precious seconds of her life to help her best friend. Don’t get her wrong, she loved Clarke to death and would walk to the moon and back for her, but think… all Lexa had to do was apologize and not be a dick. A single heartfelt apology and Raven’s unwarranted term of punishment would be over.

Anya, acting nonchalant, shrugged. Oops _. Sorry not sorry. Who was I supposed to bring? Besides you have to witness what your dear friend, Clarkey, has reduced my sister to._

Raven narrowed her eyes in utter disbelief. _Anyone but her._ She moved her eyes in Lexa’s direction to emphasize her point. _Clarke isn’t in the best state for this_.

Anya smirked at the girl before her. _Sucks_.

Lexa’s eyes shifted between Raven and her best friend sensing a private conversation firing back and forth in rapid succession. Obviously it was about her. “Guys… I’m standing right here,” she spoke through the silence interrupting whatever silent conversation the two were having. “Where can I grab a beer?” 

Raven glanced at the brunette, oblivious to being discovered. “The colored coolers.”

“Your friend is most definitely halfway to whipped,” mused Raven. “She bought Clarkey a Nightblood, her favorite drink at my shop courtesy of muah. Almost every day dude, she sits with my dear friend and waits for her to accept the coffee aka the peace offering: an apology of sorts.”

“So I’ve heard. You know? I do not think she has ever been like this. Ever. Not even with Costia. 

Raven’s mouth gaped open in mock horror. “Seriously?”

Anya scrunched her face in a grimace. “Jeez, calm your tits, but yes, seriously. Shocking I know right?”

“Anya this is a MOTHERFUCKINGDEVELOPMENT!” Raven threw her hands up in excitement. “Our dear sexy Lexie is finally at last choosing to pursee love! Ah young love, ain’t it beautiful? We are witnessing the birthing of a legendary story of epic proportions!”

“Well then… ignore me and my simple request.” Anya started to walk away.

“We should set them up! Lexy has so painstakingly obviously found love at first sight.”

“Trust me Reyes, I think Lexa’s already trying to. What do you think I return home to every night?” Anya imitated choking. “Blondie this, blondie that, oh my fucking god BLONDIE! Hell… she dreams Griffin in her sleep. The moans, the groans, the sporadic humps underneath the covers. Dear god please save me.”

Raven snorted. “Good for Lexie!” She reached behind her for a Coors, offering the bottle to her blonde friend. “Clarke, however, refuses to interact with new people and show them the loving, caring, selfless Griffin. Niylah stole her heart, never returning it. She’s a shell Anya. A complete empty shell. But!” She held up a finger. “There’s still a chance! We cannot let this golden chance pass!”

Anya laughed, rolling her eyes. Raven Reyes was eternally the optimist. “It’s all a little too fast don’t ya think?” 

“So what?! If your words are true we should encourage Lex to pursue Clarke! IT’S A WIN-WIN! It has been too many long painful months for miss stuck in her ass swirling in self-pity and sorrow. I need to get my friend back and Lexa is the key to Clarke’s heart, but my idiot best friend just doesn’t know it yet. Help a bro out?” Raven gave puppy dog eyes to Anya. 

“Fine,” Anya conceded. The brunette’s plan was simply stupid and a long shot. Clarke would not be willing to open up easily, but they both knew that didn’t they?

♨♨♨

 

Lexa walked into the living room searching for the cooler. Her eyes scanned the room searching for familiar faces. The room was packed, the twin sliding doors to the balcony open allowing the chilled breeze to ventilate the already filled room. She shifted her eyes spotting one of the colored coolers Raven had described to her, and she nearly took off in sprint to where the booze resided.

“Lex! How ya doing?” Lincoln waved to the fast walking brunette weaving through the crowd in his direction. He stood up as she approached him. “I haven’t seen you in ages. You need to leave the bird’s nest sometimes, breathe in the fresh New York air! Loosen your uptight CEO ass.” He grinned wrapping his arms around the brunette in a solid bear hug crunching her like an older brother would. Two months have passed since he last seen his little cousin which was very unusual.

Lexa felt as if the bigger muscular man were crushing her expelling her breath from her body. She looked down discovering the red cooler next to Lincoln. She extended an arm into red cooler fishing for the proper fix. “Linc… you’re… crushing… me,” Lexa croaked out in between hard earned breaths. “Business has just… been… busy. More… than us…ual.”

Lincoln chuckled, and jokingly jested, “You could at least say: nice to see you too Linc, or Lincoln it’s so great to see you oh how I’ve missed you! But instead you greet your cousin with: you’re crushing me, and business has been busy.” He loosened his hug locking eyes with his cousin. “Lex, you’re looking good. Are you caught up on _Orange is the New Black_? Season four releases soon!”

“Now that you’ve released me from your constricting chamber of death, life is alright,” replied Lexa trying to wiggle her way out of the man’s hug. Lincoln was basically an adopted brother. “The office has been busier than usual because we have this big gala in a few months. It’s like a super big deal, so the company has to get this right for public reception and all that sorts,” she paused, “Oh, and Piper and Stella for the win,” she added, sole intent to rile her friend up. “They are meant to be soulmates. How about you Linc?”

“Wha— no— you — Alex and Piper are soulmates,” the muscular man stuttered, clearly too caught off guard at Lexa’s ambush opinion to respond to her question.  “Alex and Piper for the win, Stella and Piper can suck my balls. Vauseman is meant to rule the galaxies of infinity and beyond! I mean… Can’t you see the way they look at each other lovingly gazing into each other’s eyes?”

“Sure. Whatever floats your boat loser.” Lexa finally wormed her way out of Lincoln’s hug. She bent down to grab a beer from the neighboring cooler. “I don’t understand Linc…”

“Understand what?”

“How can you be such as romantic and yet here your dear girlfriend, Octavia, is oblivious to this all?”

“Errrrr---”

“Cause you see…” Lexa guided her hand as if displaying a masterpiece. “I believe that you secretly watch these shows out of the house where you can indulge your hopeless romantic heart. You are romantic to Octavia and all, but why aren’t you like how you are with her like how you are when you talk and argue about ships and OTPs?”

“Lex, trust me she knows.” He chuckled. “She basks in glory collecting her loot every time she can mention my feelings towards fictional pairs to our friends and colleagues. She definitely will not let go of the time I was secretly watching Orange is the New Black at the dinner table with her parents while we were eating, and Piper and Alex were pouring their true emotions into their drama class impromptu about Piper giving Alex a bad fruit at the grocery store.” He grinned proudly. “I started to tear up because it was just so beautiful, and there Octavia was containing her explosive laughter, and asked like it was a normal question: How are Piper and Alex, Lincoln?”

“Oh god, what was your response?”

“I really started to cry then and her parents asked me: Are you at the scene were Piper and Alex make up in drama class? Lex… I was in utter shock to formulate a response.”

“I have no words for you,” Lexa laughed.

“And that is the story of Octavia Blake exposing me to her parents.”

“Exposing you how?” Anya strutted towards the two struggling to carry three shots of straight vodka.

“Tell your sister Stella and Piper aren’t possible.” Lincoln gave the dirty blonde his most pitiful, pathetic, sympathy gaining expression possible.

“Piper and Alex for the win.” Anya smirked. “Sorry Lex, soulmates over hotness. Real people over fuckgirls like how you need to get your head out of your ass.” She distributed a shot in Lexa and Lincoln’s hand. “Cheers to Piper and Alex, and connecting tv to the real world! Drink up hoes!” She raised her glass up to the ceiling.

“I cannot understand you. Stella’s super-hot,” Lexa frustratingly groaned, shaking her head. She stared her shot down.

“Asshat, suck it up and drink! Don’t be a party pooper!” Anya raised her shot to her mouth. “To Lexa and being insanely whipped!”

Lexa groaned once again, and raised her glass to her lips. “To my irritating family.”

“That’s cute, but you love us.” Anya slammed her glass onto the table, and smooched her lips together imitating kissing. “Let Lex’s sex-a-thon with Raven’s blonde friend begin.”

Lexa punched her sister, then eyed Lincoln daring him to add any snarky remarks.

“Lincoln, what’s the hold up?” a female voice barked from the studio apartment living room. 

Lincoln’s face formed worry lines, tremors of fear breaking surface. “And that’s my exit cue,” said Lincoln looked in the direction of his girlfriend. “See you guys around. It was a great chat sexy Lexy,” he drawled, deciding to make a break for it before his dear cousin murdered him.

Lexa glared at her sister. “Does everyone know that nickname now?”

“Lex, you’re cheating on Dropship girl,” Anya teased, sipping her beer. “How would she feel if she heard Stella’s super-hot?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she weakly deflected. Lexa’s cheeks reddened, a maddening blush. Blondie claimed the “super-hot” title. A goddess. Not Stella, sorry Ruby Rose. No one 

“Lies!” Anya smirked, retreating to the living room where Raven occupied the couch. “On a leash. Like I said.”

Lexa poured herself another shot from a wayward vodka bottle on the couch. “Shut up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup dudes,  
> I'm backkkkkkkkkkk, and I'm currently crying about fifteen months without Lexa. I'm still not over her death and everything. But who has kept up with Eliza Taylor at the current con? She's such a smol bean and I stan her to the max. Also... The 100 season four finale had me shook and crying at times... this is kind of late cause like I'm rematching season four right now and I'm crying at all the parallels. But anyways, please comment, submit new prompts, and feel free to suggest things to me to better myself as a writer. 
> 
> Love y'all to death,  
> @Debdamnalycia


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke begins to regret agreeing to host a "lowkey" party at her new temporary home with her besties, Raven and Octavia.
> 
> Octavia and Clarke embark on the path of forgiveness together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dudes! In this chapter, I believe the changes I made so far to the story are obvious and might clear things up. So far the story is heading in the direction I want it to!

_She felt the rays of the simmering sun soak into her skin, the warmth radiating through every fiber of her being satisfying her unconditional love for the summer-spring weather. She closed her eyes as she let her head sink into the malleable, formless, soft sand slipping off into sweet sleep of oblivion ---_  

“Griff, wake up! Today we’re going to get so lit that we can’t remember our names!”

 Clarke slowly rose from her deep slumber to a crushing mass atop her. Her blood flared. Raven Reyes just woke her from one of the best dreams she has had in a VERY long time, a dream where she had finally achieved refuge from the world and its stupid problems that it freely gifts to its inhabitants. She instinctively reached forward in a bid to shove her dear friend to the floor.

The brunette however, foresaw the blonde’s plan jerking her body back before the blonde could steadily grip her shoulders. Raven laughed, her eyes laced with play and mischief.

Clarke groaned, falling down into her bed disappearing beneath her fortress of blankets. She was lethargic from the early hour, unable to carry out her many masterplans of vengeance against Raven. She just wanted to go back to sleep. Everyone knew NEVER to rouse her at this hour of the morning. They didn’t dare. Well… except the one and only Raven Reyes.

Raven, who was quite disappointed by the blonde’s elicited reaction, cooled her light-spirited malevolence. She crawled back besides Clarke, taking the liberty to also curl up beneath the blankets. “You know Griff,” she softly murmured, “We don’t have to host the party tonight if you aren’t ready. Parties will always be there in the world for us any time any day.”

Clarke grunted in response, weak traces of fog still present. She seized more blanket space from Raven ignoring the offer. She just wanted to hibernate until the evening. Was that too much to ask?

“You blanket pig!” Raven vainly attempted to regain her lost blankets. “Give those back!”

“Leave my room and then perhaps you can negotiate your terms,” Clarke drowsily muttered. “I just want to go back to sleep… Is that too much to ask the all-Too-Good-Samaritan-filled-world? 

“Well that isn’t logical is it? I mean… how can one get coveted blankets back if they leave the room? Is it then worth the time and energy to negotiate terms after you have left the comfort of the bed? What value do blankets have then?” Raven glanced back over at the now snoring Clarke. “You’re a lawn more, you know that right? I mean hell, you could sound like a motor-board if you wanted to.” She face-palmed. She was talking to her dead-to-the-world friend who didn’t register anything of what she just said.

 

 _Three hours later..._  

Clarke reawakened. She didn’t remember her dream like how she didn’t remember what life cycle she was swirling through nowadays. She didn’t understand her emotions, or why she was acting the way she has been. She didn’t know anything nowadays.

Clarke rolled to her side, reaching out to her bedside table to check her phone.

 **GeniusReyes** : Rise and shineee my sun, stars, and moon 

 **GeniusReyes** : Last minute beer run, so whatcha want?

 **LittleBlake** : Bell asked about you today…

 **GeniusReyes** : omw home, got you your fav ;) 

 **LittleBlake** : What do you want me to tell him?

 **GeniusReyes** : Also… did you know that Wonder Woman comes out soon?

 **GeniusReyes** : Im like fackng freaking out

 **GeniusReyes** : Unable to form worbs

 **GeniusReyes** : Gal Gadot is just ughhhh

 **GeniusReyes** : Muthorfacking goals 

Clarke released a heavy sigh. She had to get up and prepare for the day... the small party Raven arranged. She forced her limbs to awaken from their groggy stupor, sluggishly moving her legs to the bed’s side edge, her arms dragging behind. As she sat up, Clarke could hear the roars of the tiny voices telling her to sink back into bed and neglect her obligations and duties.

When Niylah broke her heart, Clarke had not expected this. She had not expected her life to be put on pause and morph into a world of complete darkness, despair, or sadness. She hadn’t expected to turn into a depressed-morose recluse.

For her friends, family, and most importantly, herself, Clarke had to overcome Niylah and get her life back to semblances of normal. Her nails dugs into the sheets willing her body to leave the safety of the bed. Life was sure cruel. Why was this so difficult?

Clarke lowered her feet to the ground. She had to get up and going. _Now or never loser_.

She walked into the kitchen greeted by the fresh hot aroma of Nightblood (if you already didn’t know her favorite drink in the whole wide world). Suddenly, she didn’t want to go back to bed.

“Took you long enough Griff,” Raven grinned. She was sitting on a stool by the counter. “The princess has finally awakened at last! Sweet dreams I take it?”

Clarke lied, “Something like that. Where’s O?”

“I believe she’s with her brother hiking in the countryside on some glorious adventure. She said something about how Bellamy wants her to enjoy her last year of college before being tied down by the legendary, amazing responsibilities of adulting,” Raven smirked. “I mean; we all know how amazing it really is.”

Clarke remembered the texts she had not responded to on her phone. “Shit, I forgot to respond to O’s text.”

“You know… I exist too.”

Clarke ignored the brunette’s playful jab. She scrambled to collect her phone.

 **To** **LittleBlake** : Hey ;) sorry for the late reply. Tell Bell im alright.

 **To** **GeniusReyes** : Shut up you idot ;|

 **GeniusReyes** : First… Im not an idot. Second… love you too Clarkey <3

Clarke looked up from her phone, a rare smile creeping to her face.

 **To GeniusReyes** : Maybe some tequila or Mike’s for the party.

“You know you could physically speak instead of electronically communicating with me in silence!” Raven called from the kitchen. “I also exist physically and am in the same building as you sooooo vocality please!”

♨♨♨

 

Clarke didn’t know what to wear to the party. She didn’t know where to start. Here she stood in front of her now nearly empty closet at a loss for inspiration. Clarke cracked her neck. The struggle was too real.

Octavia poked her head through the door, “Find an outfit yet?” She chuckled. “You’ve been at it for hours.” Literally.

“O, why is it so difficult to dress up? Couldn’t I just wear sweats and a hoodie, or something?”

Octavia laughed again. “No, you cannot because it’s a party. That’s like wearing crocs to a party… no one wears crocs to a party!” The brunette cocked her head. “Wait. Never mind I know someone who does.”

“Ughhh. Save me from this torture,” Clarke groaned resigning to sitting on the floor. “How was your hike? How’s Bell?”

The brunette sifted through the mess of clothes on the blonde’s bed. “It was amazing! I felt like I was one with the land, with nature. The cool wind brushing against my face, the sounds of birds chirping, the smell of pines or whatever that foresty smell is. It was perfect. My brother was also stress-free for the first time in ages. He has this love-hate relationship with his new job.” Octavia held up an outfit to Clarke. “Put this on.”

“That’s good! I’m glad both you and Bell had a good time.” Clarke took the jeans and cute graphic tee from Octavia. “What was his job again?”

 “He’s a police officer now. Remember he just graduated from the academy?” Octavia examined the outfit the blonde changed into. “Of course you don’t. You were oblivious to the world at that time,” she bitterly muttered as she admired her work. She hoped Clarke didn’t catch that.

Clarke casted her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she quietly apologized. “I wasn’t there for you or anyone else, but I’m trying to be better. I’m glad Bell is pursuing his childhood dream.”

“Yeah.” Octavia stiffened, then softened her posture. “You should meet with him for coffee one day, catch up on life.” She paused and re-examined what Clarke was wearing. “You should wear that tonight,” she said. “It’s totally you.”

“Thanks O.” Clarke stood in front of her bedroom mirror. She had to hand it to Octavia, the girl knew her way around fashion. The jeans on her hips clung somewhat tightly to her skin, loosening around her ankles with a very slight flare. The dark stormy grey graphic tee sported one of her favorite bands, AD/DC. She felt the urge to roll her jeans into a crop, but she remembered her black SB Nike blazers and her mid-cut black leather booties that would cover most of the minimal flare.

Clarke knew her second closest friend was truly trying to be a better person here by apologizing in her own style and at her own pace in this moment with a peace offering of fashion advice.

She was grateful to the kind karma gods above that she did not take any further losses of important individuals in her life like her father, and Niylah. She wasn’t going to lose Octavia. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“One sec!” said Octavia giddily thinking of all the leather jackets in her closet she acquired over the years.

Clarke smiled as she watched Octavia jog to her room. They were taking baby steps, their friendship.

“Okay,” Octavia called through Clarke’s door, “are you ready?” She poked her head into the room.

Clarke gave Octavia a two thumbs up.

Octavia was wearing a white top with darkish-light blue crop jeans. “And of course…” she dramatically drawled. “You cannot forget the leather jacket… it’s Lucky Brand too!”

“Why the leather jacket?”

Octavia incredulously stared at Clarke. “Because. They. Are. Lit.”

“Whatever you say,” Clarke chuckled.

♨♨♨

 

“ClArkeeeeeeee!” Raven screamed from the kitchen. “Get your ass out here and help set up before everyone starts to arrive!” She picked up a beer and put it into a cooler. “OctaVIAaaaaaaaa!!!! You too assahat!”

When Clarke entered the kitchen, she saw Raven surrounded by bottles and bottles of alcohol ranging from beer to tequila. _A lowkey party_ with _not many people… just the gang_. Those were Raven’s exact words. “Ray, I thought tonight was lowkey? These are enough bottles to support an entire army?!”

Raven grinned, apparently wearing her sly communicative skills as a badge of honor. “I did say lowkey didn’t I? You can’t count their friends that they will invite to tag along… I mean lowkey as in our friend group, but you didn’t mention anything about plus ones or guests of our guests.” She winked. “See what I did there?”

Clarke groaned.

“Look, I promise there’s not going to be a party Party here tonight. Blake can vouch for me. ISN’t THAT RIGHT OCTAVIA?!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you!” Octavia yelled down the hall.

“It’s going to be lowkey tonight right?!” Raven repeated. “Hurry your ass up Blake, everyone is going to be here soon!”

Octavia’s voice became louder and louder.

“It’s not my fault you started getting ready so late,” Octavia responded with a note of sass rolling her eyes. “I suggested a lowkey dinner not a party, but noooooo… you wanted the party, so you deal with this mess.”

“Shut up,” Raven gestured to all the bottles, “and help.”

Clarke sighed at her two best friends bickering the usual. She could already tell it was going to be a long night.

 

Bellamy was the first to walk through their apartment door. Typical, of course of him, because he believed in punctuality. One must be at least ten minutes early to an event or outing. He calls it the “Ten Minute Rule”. Octavia blamed his stupid rule on his football days in high school and college.

If he was even a minute late to practice, he and his entire team ran as a punishment. His coaches also believed that being on time was considered late, and players were to be ready to practice before practice began. They also believed instilling these practices into their players would convert over to real life post-sports like attending a job interview or classes.

Throughout the years, Clarke noticed that Bellamy’s timely habits had rubbed off on Octavia, then naturally because of the manifold years of friendship, Octavia’s adopted rule was passed on to Clarke and occasionally to Raven depending on the day and her mood.

Bellamy approached the trio setting up the coolers at the counter. “Hey,” he greeted hoping for reciprocation from Clarke.

“Good, you’re here Blake. This is an all hands on deck jig,” said Raven tossing a beer over to the taller man. “Set up that cooler over there.” She pointed to the nearest wall by the couch. “We gotta spread the coolers for easy access for all.”

Bellamy chuckled warmly smiling at Clarke, watching her for a few seconds contemplating whether to ask her how she’s doing. He wasn’t sure if the blonde was ready to talk yet.

“Ray, he just got here,” Octavia said in a flippant way that made it clear she was irritated, and not only irritated, but that her brother shouldn’t be helping them because he was a guest tonight at their place.

“Puhh-lease Octavia,” said Raven, a drawl in her voice. “People are going to be walking through our door in several minutes. Blake, please explain to your sister why it’s an all hands on deck situation.”

Bellamy smirked. “Because you procrastinated and in a very unorganized, very you fashion, decided to prepare for the party too late,” he responded, crossing his arms emphatically.

“And that Bell…” Octavia grinned, “is why you’re my brother.” She raised her hand to high five her brother.

“Whatever,” Raven grumbled. “You two are like two peas in a pod, so I stood no chance at all anyways. Please just help me set up from the kindness of your hearts?” she asked staring at them with her best puppy dog eyes. “Pretty please with free coffee for a week on top?”

“Why of course my dear friend,” Bellamy replied, grabbing several bottles from the counter. “That’s what friendships are for.”

“Whatever Blake. Whatever you want to say because we all truly know who the real---”

“--- genius is,” Octavia finished, glancing at Raven’s growing annoyance.

Clarke could only laugh to herself. She had missed the usual banter between her friends. Her heart warmed at the long forgotten memories her mind had conquered with cheerlessness and heartbreak.

It was in this moment that she realized, she had missed her friends.                       

♨♨♨

 

Clarke soon reconsidered missing her friends. One after another, they slowly trickled in growing into a rather large crowd.

She wasn’t ready for this level of social interaction.

Monty and Jasper arrived twenty minutes after Bellamy arrived.

Lincoln arrived a little bit later much to a pretty irritated Octavia (he was supposed to get to the party when Bellamy did).

The rest of the delinquents arrived thirty-five minutes after Bellamy… Harper and her friend, Atom, Monroe, Murphy who brought his girlfriend, Emori, and Miller hand in hand with his boyfriend Bryan.

Maya, Jasper’s girlfriend, arrived after the delinquents.

Some of Lincoln’s friends, Nyko, Quint, and five others arrived after Maya.

Clarke sat on her new bed barricading herself from the hellish ruckus of the party. Earlier she sought out Raven and Octavia during a quest for the soothing burn of hard liquor. They completely blindsided her by flat-out lying about the location of the coolers, which changed her journey to the living room where she could’ve sworn she spotted a jerk ass brunette conversing with Lincoln… Clarke’s dear friend’s also lied about those in attendance: Anya, Miller, Bryan, Atom, Maya, Fox, Monroe, Bellamy, Lincoln, Echo, Jasper, and many, many more. She was promised a lowkey, quiet, inner circle only gathering.

So now here she was suffering in the confines of the four walls of her temporary new home. The music blared through the drywall as if there were no boundaries separating the blonde from civilization. Don’t get her wrong, she was grateful that the room satisfied her requirements; it was a medium toasty room with a beautiful view looking out at one of New York’s many parks offered to its residents, a room that achieved princess standards.

In the morning, when the red lit sun cascaded over her bed, its elegant rays faintly illuminated the somber, shadowy corners as if cleansing the dark with the light like how Niylah was her light. She awoke to the gentle brushed kisses of the sun’s benevolent streaks that whispered loving good mornings in her ear, similarly to Niylah’s cuddly early morning caresses.

The two could both spend all morning in bed until the late hours of the afternoon entangled in one another, lost in each other’s deep cerulean gaze for eternity.

 _Get over yourself Griffin_ , she thought. _The past is in the past and Raven is right, you need to move on… no… you MUST move on._

And that was the past wasn’t it? She was moving on to greater things for the long-term betterment. The part of her that wouldn’t let go roared desperately trying to break through the inner prison where she locked unwanted moments, feelings, and thoughts behind bars. Clarke could feel her soul being pulled further and further to oblivion relinquishing control to her grudged, wallowing, pitiful other self.

She struggled to concentrate on the room.

_You can do this Griffin, do not let Niylah win._

Her body tensed, her mind throbbing. She shut her eyes.

During cool refreshing nights, the brightened rooftops proudly boasted loud gatherings, quiet, chill dinners in company of friends, concerts producing soothing tunes of soul its spirits echoing from the classy brick apartment to apartment sharing its song to all of the district.

On rainy days, the zen tranquil droplets of rain caressed her balcony glass window, then languidly began their downward descent.

She frowned. “Princess” rightfully suited her. She really did have standards of royalty, and worse, Bellamy would forever rub the truth behind the coined name in her face. Speaking of forever, she couldn’t hide forever, she had promised Octavia and Raven she’d appear at least once. Baby steps or something in those words… Raven prior mutterings.

_Get up._

_Get out._

_Socialize._

 

_Try to return to normalcy._

 

Clarke struggled to move to her door, each step increasingly voluminous and weighted. It drained her stowed last remaining small stash of willpower. She apprehensively clasped the metal door knob, dreading the onslaught of social interaction lurking. Literally, she disappeared off the radar for months, never heard or seen—barely. Her hand lingered on the door apprehensively, unsure of whether she was prepared to face the oncoming storm.

She took another calming breath. She was bound to make an appearance sooner or later. Raven was expecting her to. She had to do this for Raven after everything she has done for her; after everything she pushed aside to aid a psychologically ailing friend. _Now or never Griff_. She hesitated for a few seconds ready to retreat back to the comfort of her plush bed. _You owe it to yourself to drag your ass out of this slump_. She took a deep breath before pulling open the door, the alcohol scented air immediately vigorously rushing into her room.

Clarke immediately sought the cooler in the living room. She needed calm her up-surging nerves jittering in trepidation. She would be bombarded with questions inquiring about Niylah, her wellbeing, questions seeking answers to how a perfect A-1 relationship turned to 113% shit. She stopped, still in her doorway unsure whether to take her first step into the world once more.

She compelled her protesting feet to advance, move to the hallway.

It took five minutes to arrive at the red cooler in the kitchen.

Clarke stopped dead in her tracks, pegged inertly ten paces before the cooler. The last several days, she grew accustomed to a particular set of presumptuous hot-shot green eyes twinkling specks of swagger. One. Two. Three. Breath. “I didn’t know stalking was on your resume.”

Lexa took her sweet time turning to look at blondie. She’d recognize the voice anywhere. “I didn’t know you were a party person,” she countered, smug grin plastered on her face. The blonde looked good tonight. Her light blue crop jeans matched the white graphic tee.

“Well my two best friends sort of live here,” Clarke stiffly said, intentionally not mentioning Raven’s name, keeping her anonymity. “Why are you here?” Third time in three days. Conceivably penance for her pathetic decorum —-then again… it takes two to tango. It wasn’t all Clarke.

“Really?” Lexa quirked a brow. “I would’ve never guessed.” Anya had told her the blonde’s best friend was Raven Reyes, and the other best friend was Octavia Blake.

“Can you please leave me alone?”

“How could I leave a pretty girl like you alone?” Lexa inwardly groaned. Yes, she really did just say that. _Great going Lexa, that was indeed the smoothest you’ve ever been all year. Be the prime example of how to be cheesy as fack._

“You simply turn around, move your feet in the direction away from me, and leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... did y'all like it? Six months of writer's block is a pain in the ass. Believe me, though many of you have probably experienced similarly and maybe worse by tenfold. I am obsessed with the song "7 Years" by Lukas Graham for an odd reason I cannot explain to you, lazy AF literally sitting on my ass for majority of the day living life like a loner, and training for the upcoming basketball season is exhausting AF. Did I fail to mention how it is hella hot where I live? I've gotten so used to the cool winters of Australia, trained myself to acclimate to the 40 degree weather in the mountains wearing min imal clothing (guys don't judge me on this). Ohhh! And I also started driving today... I really should have my license already by this point, but sports fills your schedule! Thank y'all for your comments, kudos, and support keep em' coming! Thank you and a thousand air kisses (because I'm a germaphobe)!
> 
> (don't worry, I read everyone's comments and take them into consideration trying my best to accommodate them).
> 
> Update: my current favorite song is Zayn and Taylor's collar "I Don't Wanna Live Forever". That's my song dudes.
> 
> Yours Truly,  
> @Debdamnalycia


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa re-evaluates her life... mainly her emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some scenes might appear slightly offensive or objectifying towards women... but I was trying to capture the playgirl persona of Lexa and well... Im sorry that happened if anyone gets offended or anything.

Lexa appeared unable to keep her flirtatious comments to herself, taking constant jabs at her, pressing every button, pulling every string. Naturally, Clarke responded with anger, irritation, and annoyance. She’d made it quite obvious she desired no acquaintance with Lexa Woods 

“Do you recognize the name Anya Forrester? This “Raven Reyes” individual is a close friend.”

“Anya…” Clarke pretended to evidently engage in deep contemplation, purposefully diverting her gaze anywhere but Lexa. “I’ve heard of her…” Partial truth: she was fully aware of Anya Forrester. Raven always invited her to past girl’s nights, dinners, gatherings, everything pre-Niylah breakup. Anya basically equaled family.

Her eyes flicked to green, locking the brunette’s gaze. She licked her lips. “Ms. Woods.” She added the last bit to irk the brunette, who didn’t favour the use of formalities.

“Blondie.” Lexa casually handed a beer to the blonde, eyes briefly flashing irritation, then restored to unfazed— but seriously? Ms. Woods? Why not Lexa? Her reputation always preceded her. Secretly, she hated the fact people knew her more from her CEO status rather than her civilian status. “Name basis already? Don’t suppose I’ll learn your name?” She flashed a sly grin. Blondie’s tongue licking her lips, Lexa wanted that tongue elsewhere. And the emphasized pronunciation of the “s” in Woods made her weak. The potential opportunities.

Clarke vehemently cursed at the karma gods. She couldn’t grasp why she perpetually bumped into the brunette. She abhorred the smartass, smug, self-involved aurora seeping from the womanizer CEO. After Raven reluctantly revealed who Lexa was, she researched the brunette. Every week, the ass nabbed a woman, a one night stand. Papers dubbed her Ultimate Modern Day Playgirl, Commander.

“Leave me alone.” No hell’s way. No fuck’s way. No way. Lexa Woods would attempt to take advantage of her, attempt to mark her down as a tallied conquest. Clarke poured herself a glass of water and retreated into her room leaving a gaping Lexa dumbfounded. “Keep the beer,” she offhandedly added.

“You sure? Looks like you need it more than me beautiful.” Lexa purposefully paused creating a dramatic flair. She was a sucker for dramatics. She also couldn’t stop being stupidly cheesy. “You know.” She gestured to the blonde’s trembling hands and abnormal scrunched face. “I believe the term is loosen up. Relax your fingers. Relax your soul.”

First the coffee, now the beer. Lexa was perplexed as to her change in attitude, smooth thoughts to… this. Why couldn’t Blondie see Lexa was seriously trying to apologize? She was like Tony Stark admitting he made a mistake, or there was a calculated error on his part. Lexa had a struggling history of apologies. Ask Anya. It took days to admit that she was wrong. Her womanizer status also didn’t help her case Frustrated she clenched her jaw.

Couldn’t blondie see she her intentions were genuine? Lexa groaned. Her brain was overanalyzing everything. Again. This never happened.

“Fuck off.” Clarke walked back to her room not caring she hadn’t tasted alcohol tonight.

♨♨♨

 

 

“Nice going Woods.”

Lexa shocked, swiveled her head left —right —left—

“You should really just apologize.”

Lexa did a three-sixty, stopping short of ramming Raven materializing behind her.

“You’re both acting insanely stupid like headless idiots.”

“Am not.” Lexa sounded immature.

“Am too." 

“How?”

“She’s crying over your spilled coffee, you refusing to say sorry, her on a whim deciding to face her emotional baggage only know…” Raven ticked the items on her fingers. “She needs to move on and let people in…”

Lexa opened her mouth, curtly cut off.

“—you and your egotistical playgirl self a facade masking the real sweet bean Forrester raves about, her stubborn innate instinct to build up barriers after being spurned by a lover…”

Lexa piked at that fact. It was childish, but she had a chance after all, not like some instantaneous infatuation made her want to date the woman.

“Ooops, was I allowed to reveal that?” Raven paused. “I know you’re into her Woods, but please if you hurt her I will track you down and slit your throat myself after you’ve endured a thousand cuts by my blade. I fully one hundred and thirteen percent hardcore ship the two of you together, and you’ve only known each other for what? Four days or something?”

“What makes you think I’m interested?" 

“You’re a nerdy womanizer ass hounding my blonde friend day after day at my coffee shop.” Raven laughed at Lexa’s stumped expression. She’s personally seen the brunette’s collection of Marvel movies, DC comics, shirts, everything. She was tickled a badbitch CEO could in actuality be a cute bean obsessing over superheroes and Doctor Who. “Please. It would be insulting to my genius IQ if I failed to perceive the indisputable evidence. I would be a boneheaded nitwit moron if I said you weren’t entranced by my girl one bit. Griff here, I admit, is undeniably attractive.”

“I’m gonna kill Anya.” Lexa mumbled, uncomfortably shifting, a plastered confused assembling in her features. Her bestie had willfully spilled the beans to her close friend Raven. Similar personalities that think horribly alike, too much in sync.

“I own Dropship Brews Lexa.” Raven’s smirk grew bigger. “You flirted with her, you bought her coffee and offered her a beer, you attempted social conversation with a person fending off your efforts. For fucks sake! Right now you’re still persistent unwilling to give up. Stop acting like Tony Stark and be Captain America!”

Add Raven to the list. “Actions speak louder than words. Lex, listen to this genius. Y’all are like idiots staring at each other cluelessly.” Anya slung her arm lazily around Raven in total agreement. “So shut up and embrace the truth. You know sometimes the two letter phrase is all that is required. The two letter phrase being an apology.” She smirked.

“You’re crushing hard whether you admit it or not.” Raven chirped.

“Halfway to whipped.”

“Halfway to whipped indeed.”

“CEO Lexa Woods of Trikru Industries falling hard for a blonde. I see it!”

“Bachelor Playboy CEO Lexa Woods of Trikru Industries gets her ass handed to her by mysterious blonde—“

“Woods’ tendencies leashed in by mysterious blonde.”

“I hate you both,” Lexa muttered fleeing to the farthest corner.

“She’s leashed you in Lex.”

♨♨♨

 

Octavia knocked on Clarke’s door not sure of why she was even in this position.

"Who is it?"

Octavia emerged from the hallway. “Can we talk? Please Clarke.” _Will you forgive me?_

Clarke propped her elbows on a pillow at the foot of the bed. “Oh.” Her gaze casted to the sheets. “I thought you were with Lincoln?” she said. She tried not to sound a dick-y like Lexa. She knew it wasn’t only Octavia, she also contributed to the wedge between them. She pushed Octavia away when her best friend was willing to perform her golden duty of always having her bestie’s back.

Octavia plopped onto the bed corner next to Clarke. She needed to get this out. “Look. I realize I’m not your favorite person, I haven’t supported you in the same way as Ray has because I fled when my best friend needed me the most. I wasn’t strong enough to ignore your stubborn ass, but hear me out.” Octavia shifted to her best friend. “Please.”

Clarke nodded, sitting up. She wasn’t sure what to make of Octavia’s request since she did abandon her to fend for herself, though she activated her impenetrable barriers blocking her friend out shoving her to some distance.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t acted as the model best friend honoring best friend obligations.” Octavia pushed a stray strand from her face. “You are free to reject this rightfully, but I’m willing to mend our wounds Clarke.” Her chocolate eyes locked with blank blue eyes. “Let me in. I admit to you and only you, I abandoned you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my unpleasant comment earlier today.”

Clarke released a quiet giggle, shaking her head in disbelief. “Lexa can’t apologize, but here you are apologizing so easily.” She let out another giggle, however this time louder. “I have no words. O, I accept your heartfelt apology and yes, I am willing to mend the created rift between us.”

“I apologize to you under one condition Clarke.” Octavia paused. “Never again will you prevent me from being your best friend. Promise me.”

Clarke nodded.

“Thanks.” Octavia withdrew from the bed, a deadweight lifted from her shoulders. This was surprisingly easy. “That means a lot to me.” She halted in the doorway. “By the way, Ray told me to tell you not to cry over spilt coffee — whatever that means. She also said to add baby steps. Everyone is taking baby steps.”

Clarke inwardly groaned. _No one cries over spilt coffee_. Damn Raven and her metaphors. _Get your shit together Griff_. She really had to let people in. Raven was right… as always. “I’m sorry too for turning dark on you O.”

“Forgiven. Just glad to have my friend back. I will make up for my absence Clarke. I’m here for you permanently.”

“Thanks O. As so will I.”

♨♨♨

 

“She’s stuck in my head Ahn. She’s always there, lingering in the background, a constant presence. I can’t shake free of her.” Lexa downed another shot at the counter of Raven’s kitchen. “I’m reduced to a blubbering cheesy idiot whenever I’m around her, and I don’t know why. I lose my smoothness.” She poured another glass of straight organic vodka.

“Who? Blondie?” Anya decided to play dumb.

“Yes. I need suggestions, ideas, strategies, methods, anything. How do I break free?” Lexa looked miserable. “I find myself chiding MYSELF for misbehaviors and sarcasm. I find myself uncontrollably blushing embarrassing hues of red and pink I never imagined possible.” She exasperatedly met her best friend’s gaze. “It’s always about Blondie. Always! ALWAYS!”

Anya did a double take. She didn’t expect her dear sister to be so involved with Clarke this far. She knew no method could wash blondie from Lexa’s conscious. On the bright side, forget being a big clue, her best friend was experiencing romantic expressions. At heart, Anya just knew even if Lexa slept with another woman as a distraction, a tonic to purge Clarke from her thoughts, her friend would only circle back around after a detour and continue to think Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. Like Anya mentioned before, Lexa’s emotions were too great to forget. Deep down, she knew Lexa secretly didn’t want to forget, she wanted to avoid strings attached, dodge coming to terms with her emotions. “Sleep with a stranger, the normal habits. I’m sure it’ll work.” Anya chuckled. Sure it would. Try anything you want Lex. You cannot escape her.”

“What do I do?!”

“I’m sure anyone would leap at the chance to sleep with you.” Anya smirked, obviously amused at the discombobulated, addled mess of a friend pouting on their couch. She and Raven had VIP seats to the new bestselling show entitled, Clexa. “How else would you bring a girl home?”

Lexa stared back at Anya, her eyes blank. Her memory was failing her.

“Must I spell it out for you? How you always do it fucktard?” Anya crossed her arms over her chest in disbelief. For the youngest and smartest successful CEO in the world at age twenty-five, Lexa sure could be the dumbest asshat she ever knew. “Pick up the girl, fuck her till the morning until her legs are wimpy, wobbly noodles, till she screams your name in reverence orgasm after orgasm spraying her juices infinitely.” Fat good that will do you. “Get it, got it, good?”

Lexa still looked lost.

Anya face palmed. “Really Lex? Has your little blonde angel wiped all traces of your famed sexual adroitness, expertise, artistry? Survey this party and charm your way into a girl’s pants.” She shook her head in mock disgust. “Duh. Sober up Lexa. There’s a cute blonde haired girl approaching you.” She picked up her bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

“When?” Lexa was dumbstruck, her manifold years of experience under her belt gone. “Anya. Anya!” Her pleas grew louder. “Don’t leave! Answer me please! Help a bro out.”

Anya loopily grinned at her sister as she gallivanted towards Raven. “Now! Remember what I said!”

Clarke Fucking Griffin. Anya needed to buy that girl beers. Never before has she observed the scene before her. Never before has she had to aid Lexa in her stellar sex life or life in general. Normally the brunette was the one helping her.

Lexa sat on the stool attempting to summarize everything Anya just said to her. She poured another glass of alcohol, but this time scotch, the best scotch Raven had in stock. She surveyed the small, but spacious room, gaze honing in on the approaching girl Anya was referring to.

_You got this Lexa. I full heartedly believe that you can do this. Let’s go. Get your shit together. Ready 3, 2, 1._

The nearing stranger seemed alone, but her posture indicated she was searching for someone. Lexa downed the scorching liquid unearthing newfangled courage, heightened confidence, and smooth swagger. Let’s get your game back Lexa.

The stranger digested every detail of Lexa, eyes boldly running over the brunette’s exposed skin, the tribal tattoo on her toned arms, the faint outline of defined abs peeking out from under the black crop tank, roaming lower and lower to the white jump pants hugging her muscular, but yet delicate figure.

Lexa arrogantly smirked catching the woman not-so-discreetly checking out her out. “Give me the honorable pleasure of buying a pretty girl a drink?” She winked for extra measure. That always did the trick. After all, Lexa was a prominent CEO of a dominating company and was the definition goals (who could blame her). She quickly realized she couldn’t buy the blonde a drink because they weren’t at a bar. “Because any beautiful girl deserves the world.”

“What if I’m waiting for someone else?” The blonde stranger scanned the room once more, but Lexa knew she had already decided.

Lexa licked her lips, smiling, and stood up leaning forward until she her lips brushed against the woman’s ear, teasing. Her tone dropped to low, sexily commanding, and dangerous. “I strongly caution re-evaluation after I’m done with you.”

The woman trembled in sudden arousal, the heat of Lexa’s hot breath hitting her skin. What could Lexa say? She tended to have that effect.

“So about that drink.” Lexa pulled back, smugly grinning at the stranger. She sat on the stool again anticipating the blonde to follow in suit (she didn’t disappoint). She mixed the woman a martini, and herself a dark bourbon.

 

Tonight was about forgetting Blondie.

Lexa slammed Clare—no Clara—Clarice?— against the elevator wall hard drawing a breathy moan from her temporary blonde companion who eagerly tugged at the tips of her top. She slapped the woman’s irritating needy hands away, grabbing the stranger’s wrists securely pinning her in submission as she harshly nipped the woman’s neck branding her with marks sure to last the next several days. Lexa didn’t bother to soothe the pain, she didn’t give a shit. She also had zero fucks if the doors were to open. Let the world see her masterful skills on display because tonight was a night dedicated to pleasure, to forgetting Blondie.

“Fuck….” the blonde stranger groaned. Lexa’s mouth traveled upwards, a hand snaking behind the woman’s head tangling itself in the blonde curls pulling her into a deep kiss lips crashing together. Her teeth pulled at the woman’s bottom lip, tongue granting itself entry roughly grazing teeth, then knotting the stranger’s annoying needy tongue into submission. The blonde thrusted her hips forward desperately hoping to ram into Lexa n a bid for extra stimulation. Lexa abruptly disconnected her lips, releasing a guttural growl warning the woman to obey.

There was nothing tender, or pure about her intentions. It was primal.

The elevator doors shifted open revealing the short walk to her penthouse suite. “Key…” Lexa mumbled, hastily fumbling through the pockets of her white trousers for a good minute before procuring them. She hoisted the woman, who was the same height as Blondie, onto the elevator rail. “Legs,” she said, praying the stranger would get her message. The blonde impatiently trailed her lips down Lexa’s sharp jaw, eager hands dragging her black crop tank higher and higher. “Room,” she grunted in frustration. The idiot wasn’t getting the memo. She grabbed the blonde’s legs, wrapping them around her waist. The woman’s thighs were not strong struggling to maintain stability. “Hold on,” she instructed as she carried the woman to her home. It was a good thing she worked out.

She kicked the front door open, carelessly tossing her keys to the wood floor. When she reached the master bedroom, Lexa dropped the blonde onto her modern platform bed removing her own bunched up crop tank, soon unclasping her black bra so that she was half naked. “I know you want this,” she murmured in-between wanton kisses parting the stranger’s legs at the edge of the bed stepping between them. The blonde’s center was very damp. Lexa tore off the woman’s white dress, the thong following its path somewhere in the dim lit room. She roughly lowered the stranger to the bed not caring how hard the impact was.

She took in the scene before her, a dripping blonde sprawled on her bed, a sight she wished to have every night after work… but a different particular blonde. Blondie.

Lexa shrugged out of her pants lowering herself onto the blonde stranger, biting the woman’s exposed neck hard eliciting a breathy moan. “How much do you want this?” She whispered into the blonde’s neck loud enough to be audible (barely).

“Please.” The blonde squirmed beneath her unable to contain the slight buck of her hips.

“Please what?” Oh how desperately Lexa wished go hear Blondie beg beneath her.

“Please… Fuck me,” the blonde gasped when Lexa’s hand languidly traveled south leaving a burning path in its wake.

Lexa began her godly descent, licking a torturous line to the whimpering woman’s wet core, goosebumps forming at contact. Her hands found the blonde’s breasts as they followed her mouth brushing over the stranger’s hardening breasts, fingers pinching the nubs hard in circular ministrations, finally resting at the woman’s hips, her loose grip tightening. She swirled her tongue around the stranger’s left nipple once, then twice before sucking it as if she would never encounter moderate boobs again. Her hand moved to the woman’s other nipple pinching the nub.

The blonde moaned in pure bliss, the pain turning to arousing pleasure. She writhed beneath Lexa.

Lexa parted the stranger’s rather short legs blowing against the awaiting bud. She let the cool breeze of her breath kiss the throbbing slit. Without warning, she pressed her mouth to the woman’s wet sex, tongue lazily licking the length in a single stroke lingering far too long on the sensitive nub. The woman tasted sour, however Lexa cockily smirked when she heard the chopped, breathy moans and near incoherent multiple, “F-Fu-uuu-ccc-kkkk’s”. She continued her lazy trend, cupping the blonde’s mediocre ass allowing better access and deeper thrusts. She felt hands grip her head, fingers tangling in her brunette locks pulling her roots, and thighs encircling her head muffling all sounds in the room. She watched the woman buck her hips synchronously with every thrust of her long delving tongue.

She increased the speed of her tongue, flicking in and out, entering faster and faster, thrusting deeper and deeper. The stranger’s thighs squeezed tighter and tighter, as the moans grew louder and louder echoing through the walls. The lower floors probably could hear the fruits of her habitual activity.

It was about at this moment Lexa remembered, this moment she envisaged the stranger as Blondie.

Blondie screaming her name in release as her thighs wrapped around her head in worship of her expert tongue flicking against the G-spot squeezing harder and harder, muffling surrounding ambience, but not enough to mute blondie’s sexy moans as she came.

Her briefs moistened, her length agonizingly aching, throbbing, craving Blondie screaming her name in chant as she pumped furiously in and out knuckle deep in a rut languidly. One of her hands dipped into her briefs wrapping around the hard member stroking her dick.

She moved her tongue to the stranger’s sensitive nub, hungrily devouring the bundle of nerves, vigorously sucking the crumbling woman’s clit without a care for orgasmic high recovery time. She swirled her tongue evoking room filling cries of release from the blonde. Lexa added two fingers, easily slipping in the discharge of slick cum (forget easing into the poor woman), thrusting harder and faster each with renewed intensity as if tomorrow didn’t exist feeling the unraveling blonde’s sporadic rolls of her bucking hips.

Lexa’s unoccupied hand pumped her erected dick faster and faster, a solid nine inches capable of hitting the perfect spot in a single stroke. She imagined Blondie’s mouth slowly sliding up from the bottom of her shaft, sucking on the pre-cum at the glistening tip, her smooth soft hands kneading her balls before her cock disappeared entirely into the hot warmth of the blonde’s mouth 

“Please faster… Oh shit, p-please oh-o-oh yes! Ohmygod!”

Blondie sucking her length as her head bobbed, dick hitting the back of the blonde’s throat over and over again as she grips Blondie’s curls gently guiding her, setting a steady pace. The blonde withdrawing her mouth licking down her glorious length to her base, tongue swiping over her balls much to her whining complaints as Blondie deliberately added her hand, thumbing the underside with purpose.

Lexa curled her fingers pushing the stranger over the edge as she her fingers hit the woman’s front walls perfectly. Her own breaths quickened, exhaled heavier and heavier, rugged and near spent.

“I-I-I’m…go-gonna cum!” the blonde screamed in a cry of release.

Lexa really wanted to hear those words spill from Blondie’s lips. Hell, she wanted to empty herself into Blondie’s soft, sultry mouth, every drop greedily milked and swallowed. She wanted to feel the blonde humming as she tried to swallow as much as Lexa’s hard length as she could. Blondie sucking on the reverse milking Lexa until every last drop of cum spurted from her pinkish-red head.

 “Fuccccccckkkkkk.”Lexa released into her briefs, the large amount of cum uncovering her moistened dick print clearly.

Lexa analyzed the woman before her. Blondie still hadn’t been forgotten. Lexa smirked, sinking four fingers back into the drenched folds as she reattached her mouth to the sensitive bud. Did she stop there? Oh no… she immediately resumed with a hundred times the tenacity.

 Lexa made her guest come ten times…

 With her mouth.

♨♨♨

 

Lexa emerged from the bathroom after excusing herself from the bed. Her one-night stand had awakened bare body hidden beneath the white blanket, blue eyes pleading, imploring her to return to the shared warmth of the king sized futon. The blonde stranger lips form a pout as if that were the ultimate power of control, her hand lifting her tousled sex hair out of her face.

“Come back to bed.” The blonde stranger trickily tugged the covers slightly lower revealing her cleavage.

Lexa frustratingly sighed leaning against the white wall. She instantly regretted her spontaneous decision in a desperate bid to forget Blondie.  The stranger’s goods were on the small-medium side. Her blonde locks were tangled and frail. Her butt wasn’t defined and cheeky. Her legs weren’t even that long. The stranger had a longer torso. The stranger wasn’t Blondie. Not by a long shot.

The blonde in her bed suggestively grinned at Lexa further sexily tugging the covers lower: her stomach, her hips, her wet core. She wiggled her thighs to bait the brunette. “Cooommeeeee.”

"You’re not Blondie," Lexa silently muttered. The stranger would undoubtedly flee the room if she weren’t wearing baggy sweats. She without a doubt didn’t notice Lexa’s special circumstances last night. Too caught up on the high from Lexa’s gifted mouth, though she’s especially gifted elsewhere if you know where she means. Her wild night of satiating pleasure didn’t hold the strength to banish the blonde from her mind. It did the opposite. Ruthlessly fucking a stranger, a blue eyed blonde appearing strikingly similar to a certain blonde, should’ve heavily hinted there was no running from her newfound attraction towards blondie. More so visualizing Blondie crying out barely coherent dirty strings of phrases as Lexa greedily lapped up the mile high orgasm, a damn excellent expert in that department, should’ve raised a ginormous red flag.

“There’s breakfast in the kitchen. I am late to work [an excuse to flee]. Feel free to use the showers. Towels are in the side closet located in the bathroom. I have procured clothes for you, your size, to change into before you leave. Goodbye”

Anya’s advice. Total crap.

But perhaps her dear sister knew the outcome all along.

♨♨♨

 

Lexa stood in the normal stretched line at Dropship Brews tunneling through her black slacks for her Hershel bifold wallet. Today marked day seven of (god she’s an anal dork)— today marked day seven of morning coffees—her current accustomed morning tradition. That, in addition to experience points added to her title “Next-Level Stalker” (she preferred Master of Coincidental Meetings). Either way, she beat Blondie to her table absent of exchanged “hello’s” or “how are you’s”, or the blonde’s steel cool gaze bore into her, or the tactics of shunning via sheer book attentiveness warmly welcomed her, or the bogus sham of a phantasmagorical daze dismissed her presence.

In spite of the blonde’s fruitless elusive efforts, Lexa oddly still purchased the extra Nightblood as a child clinging to the futile hope blondie would accept her gift. She was a mere mortal groveling at the feet of a divine godly princess desperate for acknowledgement, a salutation of any sort. The damn karma gods. Answer her prayers! She couldn’t comprehend what it was about Blondie, why her attention elected to glue itself to the blonde. It was a perplexing mystery eternally nagging at Lexa, one of few mysteries residing in the vacancies of her inner motel.

 **Asshat** : Earth to Commander Nerd. Herbs is a great caterer for the gala shit.

 **Lexa** : That sounds great.

 **Asshat** : A paralleled mix of casual and upscale touching our homey hearts. I ok-ed the current proposed car models to auction, so there are five right now. What’s the max count?

 **Lexa** : Twelve.

 **Asshat** : Done Commander Bossy.

 **Lexa** : Fuck off.. 

 **Asshat** : Really Lex, really? Are those your first words to your bestie?

 **Lexa** : Goodbye Anya.

Lexa glanced up from her phone, impatient per usual. The line shortened by five people. Her phone vibrated again.

 **Asshat** : Don’t forget my Rocket Fuel. That shit’s my lifeline to functioning.

Lexa wondered how Anya became her best friend after a first encounter of being called an uptight bitch.

 **Asshat** : Make that a tall.

 **Asshat** : FYI before I forget…

 **Asshat** : You’re whipped.

“Woods. It’s my utmost pleasure to service you today.” The voice snickered at the innuendo. “So two Nightbloods. Can I add anything else to your order?” The voice waited for Lexa to look up. Dumbass. She should’ve registered the acquainted voice from the get go, but Lexa was in all probability, one hundred percent certainty, ensnared in enigmatic rumination digestible only to her alone (plausibly… very likely connected to Clarke seemingly how she bought for two Nightbloods daily for a specific blonde’s prompt morning arrival). Anya’s claims were legitimate: Lexa regularly yakked on and on forever about Clarke. When she wasn’t, she dream fucked the blonde, sailed adrift in her lengthy internal storm of plans to win Clarke, or heated frustrated rants: Blondie won’t accept my apology offering this, blondie won’t civilly talk to me that, blondie refuses to tell me anything.

Anya and Raven both agreed Lexa clearly harboured freshly sprouted romantic feelings for the blonde because um, who else could successfully capture the wandering eyes of world famous CEO playgirl billionaire? Clarke Fucking Griffin.

Raven and Anya had to only execute Operation Pry the Rock Hard Cocoon Apart… in other words: Help the poor-cocky-nerdy-cinnamon-roll (Lexa) get the idiotic-stubborn-ass-who-believes-self-imposed-isolation-from-civilization-is-the-key-to-survival (Clarke) to strike a friendship (ultimately a relationship because Clexa is beyond cuddly-adorable that it’s disgustingly gross) with her. Guys, face it. Achieving objective is going to be a gargantuan fucking backbreaker, but Team Ranya is finest of its kind.

“A tall Rocket Fuel.” Lexa’s voice answered flippant and offhandedly. She was on cloud nine—Clarke nine.

 

Here’s what Lexa indisputably knew:

  1. Blondie’s eyes were mystical, mysterious, yet they conveyed each underlying expressed emotion. They resembled her heart pinned onto her sleeve, but instead in her eyes. I know your type. She stashed her broken, pieced apart, distant, melancholy hidden deep in her conscience, or behind her spectacular eyes presenting herself as surely normal. I’ll just get hurt.


  1. Blondie wasn’t a random one night stand. She was so much more (Lexa had established this time and time again). She simply wanted to be around blondie, drop work, her life, sweep the blonde off the ground whisking her to the nearest beach for a picnic, her personal library brimming with books—the best weapons in the world (quoting Doctor Who).


  1. She wouldn’t dare to mistreat blondie, who made her absolutely content to park herself on a bench watching her read, breathe, just existing. The woman made Lexa suddenly float atop the feathery, expansive clouds, weightless and blissful.


  1. She wished she could wrap blondie in the security of her arms and whisper infinite assurances, comforts. Innate instincts to build up barriers after being spurned by a lover. She wanted to fight the cruel soul who mishandled blondie’s heart, chuck it in torn tatters. Blondie’s still hurting. She’s protecting herself. She wanted to be the blonde’s knight in shining armour.


  1. She still had no clue what was happening to her.



 

“It’s on the house,” said the voice, its owner sinisterly smirking. Lexa, whose mind traveled far in the universe of pondering, had yet to concern herself with pinpointing the very familiar friendly voice. Scatterbrained, she rudely waved $16.00 in the cashier’s direction, the words deaf to her ears.

The answer was transparent, written directly on the wall. Sheathe her warpaint and act normal. Be nerdy Lexa, be geeky Lexa, be Anya’s Lexa to show blondie she wouldn’t dare to lay a dirty finger, to reveal there was more to her than her projected exterior, that she was more than a womanizer fuckboy. SHE WAS THE BIGGEST NERD. Her paradoxical mysteries would be solved, her cases closed. She realized she had screwed up the past many encounters responding voice drenched in snark and flirtatious smoothness. She realized her ego was collecting too high of a tally turning the tables against her not in her favor. 

If Lexa truly desired the blonde to bare herself fully to her, she needed to change. She needed to transform into Lexa, not CEO Lexa, not cocky overconfident Lexa, just Lexa, the girl before riches and star studded fame.

Halfway to whipped.

What was happening to her? Lexa Woods never the stupid coined term, whipped. It wasn’t possible. Then, that would prove void because recently a lot of things in the past week she thought never possible became very possible.

They happened.

“Really Woods? I can see why Griff’s so reluctant to let you in,” the voice mused. “Burned her via coffee, no apologies, persistently flirting, stalking…” The voice trailed off, anticipating Lexa’s surprise. “Must I always hold your hand steering you to the right path?”

Lexa’s ears shot up, eyes flying to study the figure before her, bulging from her sockets in total disbelief. She knew that voice. “Raven.” The brown-haired woman never worked out front.

“You know… If you want Griff to open up start by apologizing.” Raven signaled for an employee to take over cashier duties, and moved to the expresso station artfully working the machine. “You screwed up with her, you realize that right? If you showed genuine sincerity and regret, you wouldn’t be where you are now. All you needed to do was stop being CEO for once and be Lexa. Remember our past conversation?”

Lexa focused on the fluid, deft, lithe movements of Raven’s masterful hands working the machine in awe at her swift acute barista skills. What were blondie’s hands like? Were they smooth, gentle, delicate, caring, loving?

Focus Lexa, focus. You are not experiencing real feelings for blondie. It’s a mystery you must solve.

“She’s only recently returned to the land of the living after a bad breakup. I honestly shouldn’t be telling you this, but four months Lexa. Four months my best friend hasn’t been herself. The least you could do is apologize. The minimum,” Raven continued. “I also know your badass, cocky, arrogant, womanizer CEO persona is not YOU, that your feelings are not of accustomed norm, that you’ve wandered into new uncharted waters, but suck up your inflated ego and allow YOU to shine. Griff doesn’t want to get hurt again.”

Lexa wouldn't dare to cripple blondie, to inflict a wound deep to no recovery. Damn Anya and her big mouth. Damn her traitorous brain.

“Remember this Woods. My best friend is not a conquest, not another etched tally on your list. She has a heart hanging precariously at the cliff’s edge. I am aware of your big bad crush on her and I want to help you.” Raven softly smiled. “I’ve already said too much. If she asks about me, say you overheard me talking to Anya.” She winks at the brunette. “Griff is arriving in ten minutes. If you want her to open up follow my advice. Don’t screw this up.”

Raven promised, swore in blood she wouldn’t meddle, to stay out of whatever invisible silent battle Clarke waged against Lexa, but Clarke was behaving like a stubborn ass head lodged in her butt for four months unwilling to move forward and live her life once more. Operation Pry the Rock Hard Cocoon Open. “She sees only your exterior. Consider this me extorting this situation for future favours.”

Lexa grabbed her order from the counter. Her feeling was minor and only a crush, a teenage hormonal girl crush. “I-what… no. Actions speak louder than words.”

“Halfway to whipped indeed.” Raven rolled her eyes at Lexa’s futile denial. Anya was right. She’s never seen CEO Lexa Woods flustered, engaging in an arduous pursuit of Clarke, let alone activating seeking somewhat a relationship (she’s truly in denial of her romanic beginnings). She’s never seen the brunette” wrung dry” for more than two days give or take. “Take my advice. Your steadfast belief, “actions speak louder than words”, is failing you miserably.”

Lexa almost reached blonde’s corner when she heard,“Oh and Woods? Remember what I said to you before? If you ruin her… I will personally hunt you down and murder you.”

Her cheeks flushed a light shade of rosy pink feeling like a shy child mustering the courage to approach the ice cream man for a free treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahaha sup dudes!
> 
> Whaddidya think so far? I have the next chapter written but I'm currently in the process of editing it and stuff yeah... who wants to be a beta reader?
> 
> Wish Y'all the Best,  
> @Debdamnalycia


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke, Clarke and Lexa, Raven and Anya, Anya and Raven.
> 
> I finally changed the chapter more to the likes of me! Thanks @orionslave for reading it for me and really helping me :)

The third time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, the blonde acknowledged Lexa’s presence without tearing her attention away from her book in hand. Lexa didn’t know what she did wrong this time. She followed Raven’s advice.

 

(Or so she thought)

 

“You’re unbelievable, relentless, determined.” Clarke observed not bothering to identify Lexa. “Of course I plead leave me alone, and here you are anyways. Why am I not surprised?”  She was tired of constantly avoiding Lexa’s social advances. Lexa emotionally drained her.

 

“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice.” Lexa smugly winked at blondie in typical fashion. She mentally kicked herself. “Way to go Lex,” she thought.

 

“Are you always this smug?” Clarke found herself genuinely curious. How could a person be so full of themselves? So cocky and egotistical? Confident? She only knew one single other individual like that, and that was Raven Reyes. Unlike Lexa however, Raven controlled herself.

 

“Not always,” Lexa replied, voice almost softer.

 

“Then why are you like this with me?”

 

“I don’t know. I just am,” Lexa answered blandly void of hesitation. It was the truth. “It just happens.” Lexa’s cheeks threatened to burn red. She was embarrassed at her stupid response. “It leaves my mouth before I can stop it.”

 

Clarke didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to. Lexa’s usual smug, sassy, smart-ass, total ass self slightly wavered. In this moment, she was honest, candid, and her voice became softer, somewhat absent of confidence and egotistical edge.

 

Clarke analyzed the woman in front of her, her eyes scanning Lexa’s green orbs for unspoken lies, but she discovered none. She did find faint tones of red hidden from the morning light, but visible in the darkened corner if you knew what to look for.

 

Lexa inched the cup labeled, Blondie, closer to the blonde, her fingers nearly brushing Clarke’s knuckles. Her heart was on the verge of flat-lining. It was this very moment, Lexa solidified her interest in furthering her acquainted relationship with the blonde.

 

(She honestly couldn’t why she wanted to right now. Lexa, simply put, had transformed into a complete mess).

 

“Please take this coffee of peace?”

 

“No.” Clarke was more amazed--- no not amazed--- caught off guard by the strenuous effort the brunette was clearly putting into regular conversation: regal civil-ness.

 

This morning, Lexa Woods marginally wavered from the path Clarke had originally placed the brunette on. Maybe Lexa was different. Maybe she would prove Clarke wrong and be nothing like Niylah or an egotistical, overconfident dick. Maybe Raven’s stake held merit: turn a new leaf and reopen yourself to the world. Clarke didn’t know. She didn’t know what to make of Lexa Woods.

 

There were four definite facts Clarke knew:

 

  1. She was one ginormous, humongous, complete utter mess.



 

  1. Lexa Woods represented the epitome of trouble and danger. She literally had big red flashing warning lights posted around her for the entire planet to see from miles and miles away. Clarke wanted nothing to do with her. The brunette possessed the wholly spirit of playgirl aka fuckboy and evident traits of stubborn and single-minded.



 

  1. Her life was currently up in the air, nebulous. It could swing an entire one-eighty degrees in true bipolar fashion. She honestly didn’t know what to expect any more similar to how she could no longer predict Lexa’s intentions, or behaviors.



 

  1. Why was she making this list in the first place? It isn’t like she didn’t already know these things.



 

“You know, I’m just going to keep buying you coffee until you take it,” Lexa stated factually like a know-it-all. “Meaning I won’t stop, can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop all day every day?” She smirked, confidence reborn in full force.

 

Clarke lifted her own label-less cup to her mouth concentrating on the taste of her favorite drink rather than the irritation bubbling in the pits of her stomach anew.

 

_Conceal, don’t feel. Conceal, don’t feel._

_Ignore her._

_Ignore her voice._

_Focus Clarke._

                                                  

It didn’t work. She groaned somehow slamming her cup down as lightly, but as dramatically as she could.  “How can you switch from near normal to an infuriating pain-in-the-ass in a split second? I cannot understand.” Her chair slid backwards hard.

 

“It takes an ass to know one,” Lexa drawled. Her counter was childish, but she couldn’t contain it. She had to say it.

 

Clarke mentally crossed number four off her list of the things she knew. “Then you’re the queen of all pain-in-the-asses and the ultimate asshat.” She raised her voice. “What is your problem? Seriously?” She got up pushing her chair in a tad-bit softer than earlier. “I can’t, not today. Do not follow me, do not talk to me, leave me alone.”

 

 _“_ Sorry Rae, that thing called trust is going to have to wait,” she thought.

 

Lexa could only watch the blonde leave the coffee shop speechless.

 

♨♨♨

 

Lexa sat in her office chair contemplating her long list of woes. She didn’t go to Dropship Brews this morning instead sending Anya, who begrudgingly agreed, on a coffee run some time ago. She didn’t want to see the blonde after yesterday’s incident. Honestly, she didn’t want to unintentionally provoke Blondie further.

 

Lexa admitted, the blonde angry was becoming an increasingly fearful sight.

 

She sighed to herself.

 

On a day like this, the office would be ideally productive, extremely successful. The gala plans would be completed in a month’s span, however at her current rate, she wouldn’t complete it for another two months with a particular someone on her mind.

 

(Talk about cutting it close)

 

She had to get her shit together. She opened a document on her desktop.

 

 

The fundraising gala plan so far:

 

  1. Only six of the twelve divisions of Trikru Industries would auction off custom varieties of creations ranging from cars to collectibles to miscellaneous products [Titus vetoed her proposal for all twelve divisions]. Currently, three of the six divisions supplied limited edition sports car models. The other two Anya had texted her about withdrew due to errors in calculations and design flaws.



 

  1. She wanted Dropship Brews to cater at her event.



 

(She really needed to start designing invitations and compiling a guest list).

 

  1. She was far behind in the planning progress [as Titus has routinely reminded her].



 

  1. The gala would be held in her company’s personal display garage large enough to hold the massive number of attendees. Modifications could be made to accommodate layout plans, theme, et cetera et cetera so on and so forth.



 

 

She tapped her fingers against her desk, staring at her Rolex watching every tick of the hand. Today, time was losing the race against the rabbit.

 

 

To [Titus@Trikru.ie](mailto:Titus@Trikru.ie):

 

Titus,

I have planned for Dropship Brews to cater our event. I believe this company will facilitate the creation of a casual atmosphere for our guests to mingle and explore our newest models. I don’t want the gala to seem like it’s some rich person’s over-decorated, over-decked out scene. I want it to be like a real car show like that showroom I saw in Tokyo. Casual and high tech… and also you know… kind of like Tony Stark’s Iron Man display room and stuff, but that’s just me J

 

Now that I think of it, can we please model it after Tony Stark? Titus I will love you forever and ever and never neglect my duties forever.

 

Thank you,

Lexa Woods

Trikru Industries

 

 

Lexa hit the send button. Planning events were so boring.

 

Minutes later, her thoughts drifted a sudden to her disastrous one night-stand. She realized now any attempts to purge Blondie from her memory were futile. Evidence being she had imagined the stranger was Blondie the entire time. She cringed. The blonde stranger was from Blondie’s party.

 

The blonde had her questioning her life, her desires, her conscious. She could do friendship yes, but internally she’d be dying a torturous, slow death.

 

(As if she wasn’t already)

 

She checked her watch once more. What was taking Anya so long?

 

Lexa reclined her chair, leaning back slumping into the soft padding, shutting her eyes to darkness.

 

Her door buzzed open, the disengagement of the locks filling the still silent air infused with her fathomless state of sleep.

 

“So I figured you wanted a Nightblood in addition, a toastie… I’m assuming you didn’t eat breakfast,” interrupted Anya, mindlessly entering the office unaware of her friend’s sacked out position at her desk. “And I didn’t bother coming home last night because I’m sure you and your sexual hunger kept all of our neighbors up into the AM. I am just glad that for once in my life, I got a night’s worth of recharged sleep… a rare come by these days.” She cocked her head drumming her brain in second thought. “Scratch that. My entire life living in your company. But on top of that, ya gotta hand it to Reyes… She sure knows how to run an awesome coffee shop.”

 

Anya’s movement stilled. “Lex, are you okay?”

 

“Oh god,” moaned the sleeping Lexa. “Mmmmm… So good. Fuck.”

 

Anya covered her mouth, muffling her eruptive laughter from detonating. She’s plainly dreaming about a certain someone [hint Clarke], she soundlessly mused. _I told you so Lex. You’re whipped_. She slid the hot beverage across the desk, flinging the small brown bag in the direction of the chair. Hard. Time to wake up Commander Horny.

 

“You’re so tig—“

 

“Aghhhh.” Lexa awoke, startled Anya’s morning shenanigans caused by the unhinged energy offered by Raven’s RocketFuel, and the weird weight lobbed at her stomach. Her eyes blinked open to the blurring light of her office. Once. Twice. Three times. She checked her watch, forty-five minutes had passed. “What the fuck Ahn.”

 

“Lex, Lex, Lex.” Anya looked at the brunette, donning an evil wry grin. “Some dream you had,” she chuckled. “I take it that last night—“

 

Lexa’s face reddened. Crap. What did she hear? “—was your plan from the start wasn’t it?” she sleepily grumbled in defeat. The world was coming to full circle. “You knew didn’t you? This entire time… That’s why— That’s why you had no qualms about suggesting I hook up with a stranger. You knew it’s ineffectiveness.” She cursed for having a genius friend (well a genius in advice and observation).

 

 ““Oh god. Mmmmmm… So good. Fuck”” Anya imitated. “Nerd. Of course I did. I’m your sister. I know these things. They’re written on the wall in solid fine black print. Painstakingly clear. Admit it already Lex. You like her… a lot. That is what you’re feeling. You’re experiencing a boner, the standard celebrity crush (but not a celeb and a wee bit increased intensity, the next level of a celeb crush… ish. What about her has captured your impossible heart?”

 

“Blondie… I’m guessing you know her name don’t you,” Lexa began as she reached for her drink. “You and Raven made quite a point never referring to Blondie by her name. I’m not stupid.”

 

Anya smugly smiled, sitting on the brunette’s desk. “Duh nerd. It isn’t rocket science.”

 

“Help a bro out and tell me her name?” Lexa put on her best puppy dog face. “Is our sisterly bond important to you?”

 

Anya wickedly grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?” she teased. Raven was confident Clarke would reveal her name to Lexa very soon. “And don’t pull that sisterly bond shit with me.” She stared at her sister eyes imploring Lexa for information about her newfound crush. “It’s her choice to choose when she’ll properly introduce herself to you okay?”

 

“You won’t tell me,” Lexa whined. She took a long sip of semi-cooled black liquid. She felt the dirty-blonde’s gaze bore into her, ushering her to continue. “I don’t know Ahn. I barely know anything about her, yet… I find myself drawn to her. Captivated. She hasn’t even said anything only telling me to leave her alone. All I know is that she likes to read, is addicted to the Nightblood, hates my guts (with rightful reason), and she is a goddess.” She frowned at her verbal admission. “It’s weird Ahn. This is uncharted territory for me. I mean—“

 

“—-shut up Lex, you’re rambling. Answer this single question: do you like her?” Anya couldn’t wait to tell Raven. Her insides were teeming ludicrous volumes of excitement and euphoria.

 

“I feel like punching the dick-slut who fucking plunged a knife into her heart.” Lexa sighed. “Is that adequate enough?”

 

“It’s a start, but seriously, if you want the girl, you’re going to have to say these things to her; pour your heart out.”

 

 “Well I did give a random blonde seven orgasms last night replacing her with Blondie.” It was Lexa’s turn to smirk. “It’s a good thing you didn’t come home last night because I’m sure you would’ve been kept awake until sunrise.”

 

 Anya groaned in exasperation. Her dear sister sincerely needed her kind, generous assistance. Lexa couldn’t even verbally say aloud that she liked Clarke. It was a good thing her and Raven had concocted a plan to meddle. Their dirty little secret. “Other important things Lex. Focus on important things. Where are we on the gala?”

 

Lexa shuffled through several files on her desk. “Well I still have to ask Raven if she’ll cater the event, and put finishing touches on the invitations.”

 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

 

Lexa stared blankly at Anya.

 

“The guest list? The floorplans? Entertainment?”

 

Lexa continued to stare blankly at her sister.

 

“Really Lex?”

 

Lexa nodded.

 

“What are we going to do with you?”

 

“Ahn, relax, I was fucking with you. I sent my ideas to Titus already.”

 

“Asshat.”

 

“Love you too Ahn.”

 

♨♨♨

 

The fourth time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, Lexa’s warm, but cocky eyes greeted the blonde’s increasingly weaker, dejected, lost all hope blue eyes as the blonde trudged towards her usual corner table.

 

“Morning beautiful,” Lexa smirked. “Off to a good start today?” she laughed. Blondie appeared as if she rolled out of bed, overly exerted, and minimal hygienic fuss ghosted. Her hair matched tangled yarn, her clothes bordered rags.

 

“By all means take a seat. Be my guest.” Clarke averted her gaze incautiously tossing her tote atop the steel table, resounding an intended thud dispatching tremors across the metallic surface. She seated herself opposite of the brunette, turtling her tote in search of her daily novel.

 

(Lexa bet the book was good ol’ Nic).

 

Clarke ignored the brunette, hand excavating her novel The Longest Ride from her mess. She finished True Believer. Lexie and Jeremy ended up together (of course they did). He rushed back to Boone Creek tracking Lexie down and pouring his heart out to her. She in turn, professed her lies and feelings for him. Clarke was a sucker for fairytale endings… too bad Niylah wasn’t her happy ending.

Before she could stop herself, Clarke bookmarked her page, concluding to heed Raven’s pleas to trust her blah blah blah. She put her book onto the table with a mini-smack. “Morning,” Clarke decided she could at least call Lexa by her first name, “Lexa.” She had to try.

 

Not Ms. Woods. Lexa. Lexa, not Ms. Woods. Lexa was full on beaming now, a giddiness pooling in her stomach causing butterflies to churn her insides. Progress. “You called me Lexa,” she announced like an idiot stating the obvious. She wanted to smack herself. “Since when were we on first name basis? I don’t even know your name.”

 

“If you cannot see the book in my hand, then you’re an idiot. Obviously I want to be left alone in peace. I only greeted you because it’s the proper mannered practice of recognizing someone you know.” Clarke further ignored Lexa’s extra attempt to slide the Nightblood offering in her direction. “It’s so simple.”

 

“And no I am not taking the coffee. Keep it.” Clarke didn’t bother a spare glance at the brunette. She picked up her book again surmising based on the brunette’s dumbfounded stupor, supplementary interaction equaled pointless.

Lexa stared back at the blonde, her eyes silently pleading for acceptance.

 

“I don’t understand what your problem is and why you are so damn persistent, but please all I ask is you give me space.” There she was civil and normal wasn’t she? “You’re welcome to join me at this table, but please let me read in peace. That is all I ask.”

 

The blonde totally dodged Lexa’s request. “On one condition.” Lexa’s eyes mischievously glinted.

 

“And what is that?”

 

“I get your name.” If she had to give Blondie her space, so be it. For a fucking name, a single word, the sacrifice was well worth it.

 

“No thank you,” Clarke said purposefully making an exaggerated effort to drink from her own label-less cup of coffee, waving Lexa off. “Good-bye Lexa, and you’re welcome to sit with me in silence.”

 

Lexa tried not to look offended as if she didn’t just offer a trade that would cause her to give up pursing the blonde. “What? Don’t you want me to stop bothering you?”

 

“You’re just going to shout my name from every damn rooftop, and I clearly do not want that. Can’t you understand that?”

 

“Everyone already notices you. You’re above average. You’re naturally beautiful in every aspect. Who wouldn’t notice you?”

 

Clarke remained silent.

 

“Only a dumb idiot wouldn’t notice you. And I wouldn’t tell a soul your name. I’m not that type of person.” Lexa placed the usual cup of coffee on the table for the blonde. “Someone like me would have the decency to know respect and how to respect your boundaries. I would be a complete idiot if I didn’t.”

 

Clarke said nothing.

 

(She had no idea how to respond to Lexa)

 

“See you around then blondie,” she called over her shoulder as she left for work. She felt her poker face failing her, her façade crumbling apart, her dejected expression on full display for the entire world to see.

 

(Lexa was grateful her back was to the blonde)

 

Clarke stared at Lexa’s apology coffee left on the table before finally resuming her book.

 

♨♨♨

 

Clarke sat on the couch her long, fixed stare settled on the busy streets below the apartment. She had concluded today was the day. Today was the day that she would pick up a brush and paint her emotions on the canvas before her. And to clarify, she wanted to release herself letting herself succumb to her pain, heartbreak, and struggles post-Niylah. She crossed her fingers that this would allow her to finally come to terms with past events and edge forward to a healthier mental state of mind.

 

Art has always acted as another outlet for her emotions in addition to writing. Clarke hesitantly rested her brush on the blank canvas, and slowly closed her eyes as she accepted the immediate darkness encompassing her.

 

 _Focus_.

 

Heartbreak. Fear. Sadness. She was suddenly a little girl cowering in the smallest corner of the white walled room with nowhere to remain obscure. She hugged her knees tight to her chest as if they were her only form of sanctum from what resided outside the room. Clarke shuttered at the very sight of the door as she watched the handle rattle like the rattle of a rattle snake. She acknowledged sooner or later she had to open it, but the question stood at when. When would she build up the courage to let the thing in?

 

She felt the insatiable burn in her eyes, in her hands. She took it as an omen, a sign that things could only get better from here because here--- here Clarke was at her worst. The gods were telling her to open the door, but feet were solid stones fighting to stay rooted to the floor.

 

_Her hand moved effortlessly across the canvas forming uneven quick striking lines of black._

 

Clarke willed her feet to lift from the ground. She clenched her teeth together her top jaw grinding against her lower jaw in frustration. She fisted her hands, her nails digging into her skin cutting through skin. One step… two step… three step… … … closer …

 

Her arms were shaking, trembling to every footfall echoing from the walls of the room. She hesitantly moved her right arm upwards towards the door, but abruptly stopped halfway as she re-evaluated if she truly wanted to do this.

 

_The lines became unsure, incomplete, unsymmetrical._

 

Clarke deeply swallowed, her opening once more and shutting closed again. It was now or never.

 

Her hand rested atop the cool metal handle, the ice burn kissing her skin. She was ready.

 

(Or so she thought)

 

When Raven walked through her apartment door, she definitely was not expecting to encounter a painted canvas of mostly black covered with a beautiful light hue of colors, and a passed out blonde sprawled on the couch. Clarke hadn’t touched a brush in months, and she had no intention to pick up a brush or pencil again.

 

The modern abstract vibed such dark detailed auroras of struggle, abandonment, and emotional turmoil. Raven could understand Clarke’s internal battle from just the articulate sudden brisk strokes of her friend’s hand.

 

Uncertainty of the path she would travel post-Niylah.

 

The thought of the perfect picture she had painted now shattered.

 

Questioning if she would survive.

 

But then there were the added light hues of green and blue, the colors of rebirth, honesty, and evaluation. These lines were smoother, softer, delicate, and refined.

 

Raven sighed and smiled to herself. Because she had watched Clarke paint all these years, the blonde’s paintings were an open book to Raven. They were pages of Clarke’s life and everything in between.

 

And right now, Clarke was on the right path, but Raven knew her best friend was still suffering.

 

Raven walked into the kitchen in search of food. When she opened the refrigerator, she saw a small post it note: Tell Lexa Woods to LEAVE me ALONE xoxo Clarke.

 

Raven needed to seriously talk to Lexa.

 

♨♨♨

 

The fifth time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, she didn’t initiate conversation at all. She admired from afar because she was really willing to do anything for the blonde’s name even if it meant heeding her wishes without getting a name.

 

Here, Lexa found herself, seated in the furthest, darkest, secluded corner in Dropship Brews awaiting blondie’s estimated timely arrival. She was patiently waiting to see what the blonde was wearing, how her hair was for the day, what mood the woman was in, what beverage she ordered from the menu.

 

(Lexa vigorously denied this was stalking. She already placed a Nightblood at the blonde’s usual table… not creepy at all… and she somehow seated herself in Clarke’s regular table).

 

She took a long sip from her iced green tea latte, her teeth successfully catching an ice cube to chew on. Her eyes were glued to the entrance door. Any moment, the blonde would walk in.

 

Clarke strode into Dropship Brews tired and exhausted. She could’ve sworn she had fought a strenuous war these past few weeks. She had dinner with her mother, started planning a showcase in her gallery to sell new pieces of art, and composed several pieces of self-inspired canvases in Raven’s living room.

 

Raven absolutely loved them. She said they really touched the hearts of the viewers connecting with their emotions. They were vibing pieces… Whatever that meant to Raven.

 

Clarke went straight to the barista skipping the line. She was forever grateful her best friend owned the most-successful, very popular coffee shop. She got her drinks free of charge and only had to tell the barista her order, not the cashier. It also helped that the barista’s knew Clarke’s orders by heart, and could identify which drink she wanted based on her mood alone. However, almost always, Clarke craved the Nightblood.

 

Today, the shop was busier than usual. Clarke glanced at her coveted corner to check if no one took her table. She didn’t have the energy to complain when she saw Lexa already seated “reading” a book.

 

Lexa looked up from her book, _The Best of Me_. She had purposefully bought the mass-market paperback yesterday at Barnes  & Noble so that she could fall into the blonde’s good graces once more. Then again, was she ever in Blondie’s good graces? “Good Morning beautiful,” she greeted, winking at the blonde.

 

“So you do read,” Clarke stated in nonchalance masking her surprise. Lexa held a Nicholas Sparks novel in her hands. Lexa almost seemed normal. She placed her nameless cup on the table. “Great choice by the way. Nicholas Sparks is an amazing author.” She sat down across from the brunette.

 

Lexa smiled. “I do read, yes, like everyone else in the entire planet earth. However, similar to less of the planet’s population, it’s actually one of many hobbies I truly enjoy.”

 

Clarke pulled out _Safe Haven_ from her tote bag ignoring Lexa altogether.

 

“I love Stephen King, George RR. Martin, Marvel Comics, DC Comics, scouring bookshelves for hours in a great bid to discover a hidden gem that’s been hiding from my gaze.” Lexa moved one of the two coffees near her closer to the blonde.

 

She found herself rambling. “And green tea lattes are my favorite. I like them iced because despite the unhealthy con of ice chewing, I love it nevertheless. And ---“ she glanced at the blonde across from her. Lexa was being blatantly ignored. “What’s with you?”

 

Clarke gripped her book tighter. Here, she thought today the karma gods granted her a day to read in peace in her favorite coffee shop in the entire universe. “Has anyone ever taught you to be quiet?”

 

“Why yes, of course. It’s an essential definition to understand and use,’ Lexa stated as if it were obvious.

 

“I’m telling you to shut up.”

 

Lexa smiled. “Whatever you say Princess.”

 

(Clarke hates the name Princess)

 

“Do you ever feel like your looping around the same track over, and over, and over again? You must be plain stupid if you aren’t because you’ve literally been on the same track for a while now. I’m getting tired of telling you to leave me alone… and today, today I sincerely tried to coexist with your presence, but you are an incessant asshat who doesn’t know when to stop talking and let me read in peace.”

 

“No, no I do not. Enlighten me.” Lexa actually wanted to understand Blondie.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Clarke gasped in exasperation. “You’re giving attention to someone who doesn’t want your annoying attention, someone who wants to be left alone to read in tranquility. But you. You IGNORE my simple requests; the persistent lot you are.”

 

“Okay, and?” Lexa chuckled.

 

“Ughhh.” Clarke huffed. “Enjoy your book Lexa, I’m leaving.”

 

“I really ought to confide in Reyes,” Lexa thought as she once again, watched the blonde storm off.

 

♨♨♨

 

“Raven….” Clarke began, “Tell Lexa Woods to leave me the fuck alone. I want to read in peace, in silence. I don’t want to be rudely interrupted, or have my space intruded by an unwanted guest.”

 

“You burst into my office and that is the first thing you say to me your dear, bestest of the bestest friends,” Raven mocked. “Not a hello Raven, how was your day? Or a hey lord of all geniuses, what’s up?”

 

Clarke’s gaze shifted to her feet. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do. I feel like Lexa is constantly breathing down my neck smothering me in her presence. I find myself exploding at every word that leaves her mouth. She’s as cocky and arrogant as she was before!” She collapsed onto the couch. “I only wish to be left alone… is that too much to ask?!”

 

“Clarke,” Raven waited until Clarke looked into her eyes, “Do you trust me?”

 

Clarke remained silent.

 

“It’s going to be a storm before there’s calm, so trust me.”

 

“Isn’t it the opposite way around?”

 

“Shut up Griff, that’s not the point. The point is I believe Lexa does everything she does with good intentions. She only wants to be your friend. She has… problems… with hmmm. How should I put it? Clarke, let people in. Trust me. You’ve come so far lately, don’t go back now. Lexa will not hurt you, that is the last thing she’d ever want to do. Do you trust me Clarke?”

 

Clarke sighed, weakly smiling at her best friend. If Raven trusted Lexa, then she would trust Raven. “Yes, I do Ray.”

 

“Then the next time you see Lexa, you know what to do.” Raven winked.

 

 

Clarke sat on the couch drinking her third Nightblood of the day. Call it stress drinking, instead of stress eating. She had been slumped up in Raven’s office since the Lexa encounter ruminating the past few weeks.

 

For starters, there were three definite events in which Lexa caught Clarke off guard:

 

  1. _“Everyone already notices you. You’re above average. You’re naturally beautiful in every aspect. Who wouldn’t notice you?”_



  1. _“Only a dumb idiot wouldn’t notice you. And I wouldn’t tell a soul your name. I’m not that type of person.” Lexa placed the usual cup of coffee on the table for the blonde. “Someone like me would have the decency to know respect and how to respect your boundaries. I would be a complete idiot if I didn’t.”_



  1. _“Are you always this smug?” Clarke asks._



_“Not always.”_

_“Then why are you like this with me?”_

 

_“I don’t know. I just am. It just happens. It leaves my mouth before I can stop it.”_

These were the three definite events in which Lexa was honest, candid, and void of her usual cocky, arrogant, overconfident self. These slivers were moments in which Clarke met a different Lexa--- maybe the Lexa Raven got to know better, the Lexa Raven had grown to trust whole-heartedly.

 

So perhaps she was overreacting a tad-bit to the brunette. Like Clarke, perhaps Lexa had her own issues that had shaped her persona into the one she had today.

 

♨♨♨

 

The sixth time Lexa saw the blonde with no name, the two sat at their table in the back and read their respective books.

 

The blonde didn’t seem angry or irritated this morning, but she still never accepted Lexa’s peace cup.

 

“How was _True Believer_?” Lexa asked out of the blue after deciding how she would approach the explosive, angry blonde. “The book I saw you reading when I first met you?”

 

“You should read it and find out,” Clarke answered, glancing up from her book in hand. She had no energy left to fend off the brunette. Lexa had successfully worn her walls down. “No spoilers.” She carefully watched Lexa, wondering if her interest in books was real.

 

Lexa nodded in agreement. “Because we all know spoilers are the absolute, utmost worst.”

 

“I see you got the book,” Clarke observed. “Someone was eager.”

 

“Your opinion was important to me, so I walked to Barnes and Noble and purchased it,” admitted Lexa sheepishly casting her gaze downwards at her book, _True Believer_. “I feel a connection to Jeremy… like in some ways I’m him.”

 

Clarke softly laughed to herself. “Can’t see it.”

 

“Why?” Lexa was confused. “I totally am him.”

 

“Because you’re a prominent CEO and he’s a rising journalist. He isn’t rude or egotistical, and you are.”

 

Lexa was still confused. “I’m rude, but not egotistical.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, it’s the outward appearance the media depicts me as.”

 

“Right.’

 

“I have a lot of confidence, so I have to deal with it somehow,” Lexa weakly defended.

 

“So your solution was to become a dick?” Clarke couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows.

 

Lexa fumbled for words. “Okay you got me there,” she finally said, looking down at her green tea latte down casted. “Can I propose a new deal?”

 

Clarke skeptically glanced up from her book. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m going to finish this book, and tell you all the reasons why I am Jeremy,” Lexa said with a note of powerful determination. “And ultimately,” she added, “If I finish this book, I get an up-close and personal review of this book courtesy of you, the self-proclaimed book expert.” She looked up at the blonde with newfound determination.

 

Clarke didn’t respond.

 

(Internally she was smiling. She hasn’t genuinely smiled in ages).

 

“So, what do you say Blondie?” Lexa paused, “Deal or no deal?” She hoped the blonde would bite and take her new proposal. She also wished to respect the blonde’s privacy and anonymity.

 

“Fine, whatever,” Clarke said at last. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dudes, 
> 
> It's Comic Con weekend! What's up and how are y'all doing? Are you surviving all the new pictures of Alycia, The 100 Cast, and Eliza? Also... have y'all seen the new season five trailer for The 100, and the new Fear the Walking Dead trailer? It's going to be hella fucking goddamn lit and I cannot wait. I honestly don't think I'll survive when both shows return.
> 
> This chapter had me with mixed emotions when I finished it, but I edited it and tried to get some peers to read it for opinions and improvements. I thought, in honor of SDCC 2017 I'll post it ;)
> 
> Feedback and kudos are much appreciated, but mainly feedback! Guys, I really want to get better as a writer.
> 
> Catch y'all later :)
> 
> @DebdamnAlycia
> 
> P.s. I'm now @Debdamneliza on instagram lol if anyone cares :)


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Works... chapter is likely to be updated.

It has been a month since Clarke had last seen Lexa. The past month had her sudden hectic schedule filled with excessive hours preparing the gallery to re-open. If someone asked her how much she enjoyed her life, she would respond, “It’s hell.”

 

Her ears were oblivious to the whining drills, the incessant hammering, and the deep chatter of the workers. After being immersed in the ambience, she had built a high tolerance. It became a part of her daily life.

 

She sat in a chair randomly placed amid the revamping of her small SoHo gallery, her ears accustomed to the shrill whining of drills, the incessant _bang_ of hammers, and the deep chatters of the workers. Clarke was lost in a journey far from reality to a question that nagged at her conscience since she last saw Lexa.

 

What could she say to Lexa when she finished _True Believer_? Lexa wasn’t Jeremy Marsh…

 

Or Lexie Darnell, for the most part.

 

Lexa was… she was… well… a conundrum simply put. She was a broken record that played on repeat sounding to the deepest corners of Clarke’s inner sanctum. She represented the alluring, deviant, smooth-talker equipped with an overconfident ego and a wandering eye--- danger. But… at Dropship Brews, Lexa was visibly trying to be genuine, like freaky genuine. She wanted to learn why Clarke enjoyed reading what she did, she had purchased a coffee every morning for Clarke as an apology.

 

Clarke felt confused, and frustrated that she couldn’t draw a solid, firm conclusion, and move on. It was a tiring feeling. Truly. Nearly every day, her inner conscience often languidly drifted to Lexa; Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. Again, and again, and again. She groaned, her head throbbed. _Make it stop._

 

“Clarke Griffin?”

 

Perhaps, Clarke could simply give her own personal critique of the quality of her favorite novel. Keep it simple, and not compare Lexa to any of the main cast. She could focus on the beautifully scripted relationship of Lexie and Jeremy, their illustrious moments of love woven together by the mastermind of romance himself, Nicholas Sparks.

 

She could explain her analyzation of why Lexie chose the cute, adorable, oblivious Jeremy. Why Jeremy chased after Lexie, and the significance of his epiphany. Clarke groaned once more. Case and point, despite her hard fought efforts, she couldn’t stop thinking about a particular green-eyed brunette.

 

She needed to know why.

 

“Clarke Griffin?”

 

Clarke blinked once. Twice, refocusing her casted gaze. Her assistant stood in front of her, face an inch away at eye level. The cautious probing stare of Harper’s inquisitive eyes in such close proximity startled Clarke. She hated when the brown haired

 

“I’m sorry, but are you present?” Harper asked apologetically as she withdrew her face, returning to a standing position.

 

Clarke slowly nodded, recovering.

 

“Alright then, your grand masterplan, an abstracted, subtle complexity correct? The vibes are a “coming of” or “overcoming” correct?”

 

Clarke nodded again.

 

“Colors are mainly white and with black paintings that are all related to loss, recovery, and pain?”

 

Clarke nodded once more. “That’s a bit bland and cliché when you put it like that,” she added.

 

Harper chuckled. “And lastly,” she glanced at the tablet in her hands, “you have chosen the appetizers and refreshments yes?”

 

Clarke tried to convincingly nod. She couldn’t lie for her life.

 

“Miss Griffin, after my many years of working with you, and being a friend, you are insulting me if you think that I cannot differentiate between lie and truth,” Harper winked.

 

Clarke cracked a nervous , scratching her head. “I guess I’ll get right on that then.”

 

“You better,” Harper joked, smiling at Clarke. “And you still have a few pieces to add before your big night, but that’s not for like a small while. You’re slowly making a comeback boss,” she playfully teased.

 

Clarke blushed, the rosy red burn of her cheeks breaking past its airtight barriers. “It’s not like that many pieces are in my exhibition.” She grinned. “Might I remind you of the gallery size? I have a small space you know?”

 

“Of course I know that,” Harper playfully drawled, “but it’s not like you have a ton of pieces to create.”

 

“Art takes time, it can take however long it takes, and whenever inspiration or emotion hits.” Clarke’s voice lost a chunk of its jesting light.

 

“Kidding,” Harper smirked.

 

Clarke blushed anew.

 

***

 

When Clarke arrived at Raven’s apartment, she tossed her bag on the kitchen table and immediately sought out the shower. She was exhausted, downright prepared to effortlessly crash into the soft covers of the new bed she has grown to love. However, soon, she would be moving back into her loft. Clarke knew that eventually this would happen. She came to terms with this long ago. She was ready.

 

“Grifffffff!” Raven screamed from god knows where. “Hurry your ass up! We’re having guests over tonight!”

 

Clarke groaned to herself. By guests over, her dear best friend probably meant Anya Woods, or the “not” new girlfriend (they refused to put a label on their “best friend” status). They were basically one and the same cut from the same cloth, an evil duo that pranked every single person in their friend group, and random strangers. They were the best of the best friends that filled their endless banter with flirtatious comments.

 

Clarke remembered the time that they walked around Central Park filming themselves as they asked passerbys if they wanted a BJ. They failed to specify, a BJ’s gift card. One guy, just blankly stared at the pair, another started interrogating the two for details, a third, a stranger who was visibly a woman, the intense judgment radiating past the distance of ten people. She later told Raven and Anya, “Are you really asking me this?”

 

“We’re having Italiano! Fettucine, linguine, whatever the hell you call it… with pesto, parmesan, and a salad!”

 

Raven had a plan. Clarke was well aware that Raven seldom cooked, and if she did, there was likely an underlying motive in motion. Clarke simply had to act the part, then Raven would eventually--- and accidentally--- reveal her true intentions.

 

Clarke could wait. She had all the time in the world. She chuckled, swiftly escaping into the solid clear space of the shower where she surrendered to the hot, boiling water molding around her body. She was relaxed at last, encompassed by the tranquil sanctum.


End file.
